>&AHvaan^^      ^(JAuvaani'^ 


.\WlllNIVERJ//; 


.vNlOSANCfl£j> 


-^       ^VIIBRARY(9/^ 


*         <r7iJ3KVS0#      "^ASaAINrtlW^         "^itfOJnVJJO^      ^ojiivjjo'^ 


.  \\\f  UNIV[R5/A. 


'^J^inKV\ni'<^ 


lOSANCElfjy 


"^AaaAiNiimv^ 


^0FCAIIF0%       .^,OF•CAlIF0ff^ 


^ 


\RYQr,       ^illBRARY(V 


1    ^ 

^.OFCAIIFO%,       ,^;OF•CAllFO% 


.^MEUmVFRJ/A 


^^^\E■lINlVEW/^ 


o 


^lOSANCEl£r> 

so 
3> 

%a3AiNn-3V^^ 


CO 


^0A«\ 


XWFUNtVERJ/^        <^lOSANCnfj> 


<f7l3DNVSO]^       "^aaAINrt-JftV^ 

I    3^, — .> 


iU3WS0V'<^       "^/SaBAINIl-JV^^ 


:^ 


-j^^lllBRARYQr^ 


4^lllBRARYQ^ 


\^i\m-\^    ^•yojiwDjo'^ 


^OFCAllFORj^ 


^OFCAUFO^, 

-^  ...    .3 


^^AHvaaiH^ 


^<?Aavn8n-i>^ 


"^IJDf- 


^I'YQr         A^JvlUBRARYQc^ 


.^,.OFCAllFOffx^ 


■<J5130NVS01^ 


"^ajAiNaawv^ 


^WE■UNIVERS•/A 


^       ^lOSANCn^> 

o 


CO 

so 


^d 


€ommcrtc,  Citcrature  anJ)  ^rt. 

MR.  BRANTZ  MAYER'S 
DISCOURSE 


AT     THE 


DEDICATION  OF  THE  ATHENAEUM, 
BALTIMORE,  OCTOBER  23,  1848. 


Commerce,  fiiteraturc  anb  ^rt. 


MR.  BRANTZ  MAYER'S 
DISCOURSE 


AT     THE 


DEDICATION  OF  THE  ATHEN.EUM 


BALTIMORE,  OCTOBER  23,  1848. 


(Hommcrcc,  Citcvalurc  anii  wVvt : 


A  DISCOURSE 


BRANTZ  MAYER. 


PELIVERED  AT  THE  DEIIICATIOX  OK  THK 


BALTIMORE  ATHENJ^IM. 


OCTOBER    23,    18  48. 


BALTIMORE: 
PRINTED    R  Y     ,1  O  Fl  N    M  U  I{  I    t  M 

MbCCCXLVlII. 


Daltimore,  October  i2Clh,  1848. 

My  Dear  Sir  : 

The  Joint  Committee  of  the  Maryland  Historical    Society,  tlie  Library 

Company,  and  the  Mercantile  Library  Association,  has  requested  me  to  ask 

of  you  for  publication,  a  copy  of  the  Address  delivered  by  you  before  these 

Societies  upon  the  evening  of  the  23d  inst. 

I  have   much  pleasure  in  carrying  the  wish  of  the  Committee  into  effect, 

and  beg,  that  if  not  inconsistent  with  your  own  views,  you  will  afford  us  an 

early  opportunity  of  giving  general  circulation   to  the   sentiments  of  your 

valuable  and  eloquent  address. 

Very  respectfully  and  truly. 

Your  friend  and  servant, 

J.  Morrison   Harris. 

B.  C.  Ward,  i  Committee  of  the 

S.  F.  Streeter,  \  Marylarul  Ilisto- 


To  Brantz  Mayer,  Esq. 


J.  Morrison  Harris,  )  rtcaJ  Society. 

J.  Mason  Campbell,  ^  Committee  of  the 

John  M.   Gordon.  \  BaUimore  Li- 

\Vii,LiAM  KoDEWAi.D,  )  brary  Company. 
FIenry  Mactier  VVarfield,  i  Committee  of  the 

Charles   Rradendaituii,  >  Mercantile  Li- 

William  E.  Woodvear,  )  brary  Jissociation. 


Baltimore,  Isi  November,  1848. 
My  Dear  Sir  : 

I  received,  to-day,  your  note,  on  behalf  of  the  Historical  Society,  the 
Mercantile  Library  Association,  and  the  Library  Company  of  Baltimore,  in 
which  you  are  pleased,  in  very  flattering  terms,  to  request  a  copy  of  my 
Address  for  publication.  I  comply,  at  once,  with  your  desire,  and  beg  that 
you  will  convey  to  your  associates,  composing  the  Committee  from  the  three 
Societies,  my  cordial  thanks  for  this  mark  of  their  respect. 

Very  truly,  your  friend  and  servant, 
Brantz  Mayer. 
To  J.  Morrison  Harris,  Esq.,  &c.  &c. 
Cliairman  Joint  Committee. 


UBSETS 


DISCOURSE. 


There  is  nothing  around  which  cluster  so  many 
agreeable  sympathies,  as  the  idea  of  Home.  It  is 
that  for  which  every  man  of  true  sensibility  craves. 
We  long  to  be  at  rest,  in  perfect  security.  We  de- 
sire a  retreat  whence  we  are  never  to  be  driven,  and 
wherein,  our  rights  will  always  be  respected.  This 
is  a  natural  feeling  which  every  one  experiences 
when  he  shuts  the  door  of  his  dwelling  and  nestles 
in  the  familiar  chair  that  stands  ready,  with  its  capa- 
cious arms,  to  receive  him  in  the  kindly  circle  gath- 
ered around  his  hearth  stone. 

Nor  is  this  sentiment  of  home  dearer  to  man,  in  so- 
cial life,  than  it  is  to  the  scholar  and  artist  who  seek 
to  shelter  the  houseless  children  of  the  brain.  It  is 
to  them  pleasant  to  behold  these  vagrants  comforta- 
bly lodged  and  provided  for  the  rest  of  their  lives, — 
not,  indeed,  in  mendicant  asylums  where  genius  is 
fed  witii  reluctant  alms, — but  in  a  respectable  home, 
where  they  may  never  suffer  the  stings  of  dependence, 
or,  with  wounded  pride,  sink  into  the  degradation  of 
beggary. 


8 

Such  a  Home,  and  not  such  an  Asylum,  for  Litera- 
ture, Art,  and  History,  we  have  met,  to  dedicate  in 
the  City  of  Baltimore;  and  here,  forever  are  the  mas- 
ters of  the  pen  and  pencil,  to  enjoy  free  quarters  and 
hold  their  levees  in  the  republic  of  letters.  We  de- 
sign it  to  be  a  home  in  every  sense  of  the  word; — a 
home  not  only  to  them,  but  to  us ; — a  social  home,  in 
which  fashion  and  formality  are  to  hold  no  place  or 
to  enjoy  no  privileges,  but  where  all  shall  be  cordially 
welcomed  when  they  crave  admission  or  companion- 
ship by  virtue  of  talent  or  taste. 

Whilst  congratulating  this  audience  that  we  have, 
at  last,  within  the  limits  of  our  city,  such  an  edifice, 
we  may  also  indulge  the  remark,  that  this  is,  perhaps, 
the  first  unselfish  gift  that  money  has  ever  made  to 
mind  in  our  country.  I  do  not  allude  to  the  founda- 
tion of  professorships,  or  gifts  to  charitable  institu- 
tions,— things  done  for  the  sake  of  Christianity,  or  for 
the  advancement  of  education,  and  flowing  from  the 
generosity  of  wealthy  individuals, — but  I  speak  of 
edifices  erected  by  spontaneous  subscriptions  for  lite- 
rary purposes,  from  which  the  donors  expected  no 
revenue  in  the  form  of  money.  This  beautiful  house 
has  been  built  by  free  gift;  so  that  all  classes, — 
mercantile,  professional,  mechanical, — have  been  ena- 
bled to  bestow  their  voluntary  contributions,  and  to 
point  to  it  as  an  object  of  personal  and  exalted  pride. 

There  are,  probably,  many  present  who  recollect 
when  the  first  project  of  erecting  this  Athenaeum  was 
suggested,  and  how  sneeringly  the  idea  was  discoun- 
tenanced by  some,  that  anything  but  the  expectation 
of  revenue  could  induce  subscription  to  such  an  en- 
terprize.     Indeed,  the  first  sketch  comprehended  the 


scheme  of  a  small  income ;  but  there  were  others 
who  believed  that  generosity  and  intellectual  justice 
were  possible  things,  when  men  are  properly  ad- 
dressed ; — and,  to-night,  you  have  the  material  fact 
proved  and  consecrated  in  the  dedication  of  this 
magnificent  building.  Let  it  be  our  boast,  as  Balti- 
moreans,  when  we  show  the  shafts  and  columns  that 
point  heavenward  from  our  city  walls,  in  honor  of 
civil  and  military  glory,  tliat  we  have  now  a  nobler 
monument  in  our  midst,  to  which  cupidity  has  not 
paid  the  tribute  of  a  cent, — in  which  selfishness  has 
not  set  a  single  stone, — with  which  the  vanity  of  the 
living  or  the  dead  has  no  concern,  and  to  which  time, 
money,  intelligence,  have  been  unstintedly  devoted 
as  a  labor  of  love.  Let  it  be  our  honest  pride  that 
herein  are  not  to  be  congregated  the  trophies  of  war 
the  spoils  of  victory,  the  emblems  of  mortal  strife 
and  ambition  ;  but  that  the  triumphs  of  the  mind,  the 
god-like  thoughts  and  spiritual  fancies,  the  sublime 
conceptions  and  achievements  of  genius  in  all  coun- 
tries, are  to  be  garnered  within  our  edifice ; — that  from 
these  walls  the  noble  images  of  pictured  thought 
are  to  speak  in  beauty;  that  from  these  pedestals  the 
eloquent  marble  is  to  breathe  the  passionate  beauty 
of  Venus,  or  the  spiritual  wrath  of  Apollo ; — that  from 
these  shelves,  the  master  minds  of  all  ages  are  to 
speak  to  enquiring  men,  and  to  hold  their  solemn 
conclave  of  genius  and  wisdom  ! 

It  is  a  matter  of  no  ordinary  satisfaction,  that  the 
greater  part  of  the  funds  with  which  this  edifice  has 
been  erected,  came  from  the  mercantile  community. 
In  a  Republic,  and,  indeed,  in  all  countries,  at  the 


10 

present  day,  the  majority  of  the  people  must  be  en- 
f^ao-ed  either  in  commerce,  agriculture,  or  the  me- 
chanic arts.     The  great  bulk  of  national  wealth,  con- 
sequently, pertains  to  this  large  and  influential  body, 
and  the  lawful  patronage  of  genius  must  spring  from 
it  wherever  art  and  literature  can  constitutionally 
receive  but  little  direct  encouragement  from  the  gov- 
ernment.    Science  takes  care  of  itself;  because  sci- 
ence,— the  handmaid  of  the   mechanic,  the  farmer, 
the  manufacturer,  and  the  navigator, — appeals  imme- 
diately to  their  necessities  for  protection.     The  sailor 
cannot  cross  the  sea,  the  merchant  trade,  the  builder 
raise  his  dwelling,  the  miner  dig  the  earth  for  coal  or 
gold,  nor  even  the  distinguished  cook  prepare   his 
mess  of  savory  viands,  without  the  aid  of  theoretic 
and  practical  science.     Mathematics,  chemistry,  ge- 
ology, and  all  that  vast  field  which  is  covered  by  the 
general   phrase — Natural   Philo.sophy, — appeal   per- 
sonally, to  the  wants  of  every  man.     We  feel  and 
are  forced  to  acknowledge  our  direct  dependence  on 
them,  and  we  know  that  in  proportion  as  they  are 
developed  by  modern  analysis,  so  are  our  means  of 
acquiring   fortune   and   surrounding   ourselves    with 
comforts  and  luxuries  multiplied.     This,  then,  is  the 
demand  that  want  makes  on  science,  and  the  reason 
why  science  rarely  asks  the  aid  of  wealth;  for,  with- 
out it,  wealth  could  not  transmute  the  dross  of  the 
desert  into  the  coin  that  rules  the  world.     But  litera- 
ture and  art  are  differently  situated.     In  such  a  coun- 
try as  America, — where  the  press  is  entirely  untram- 
melled by  a  censorship  or  by  the  stringent  enforce- 
ment of  the  law  of  libel, — in  which  the  direct  inter- 
course between  men,  and  between  the  sexes,  is  of  the 


11 

freest  kind, — in  vvliicli  tiie  genius  of  the  people  and 
the  national  laws  have  (brever  destroyed  the  possi- 
bility of  perpetuating  wealth  in  families, — the  masses 
must,  necessarily,  be  forced  into  violent  action  and 
continued  effort,  not  only  to  acquire  fortune,  but  for 
necessary  maintainance.    In  this  constant  strife  of  the 
people  against  want  or  for  accumulation,  they  have 
but  little  time  to  turn  aside  into  the  paths  that  are 
bordered  by  flowers,  and  where  the  muses  dally  and 
revel  in  perfect  liberty.     The  habit  of  trade  has  the 
direct  tendency  to  make  men  not  only  count  the  cost, 
but  to  look  for  an  income  from  the  outlay  of  their 
money.     The  question  asked  is — will  it  pay  ?     The 
feeling  that  rises  in  the  heart  is  the  same  as  that  with 
which  they  make  a  bargain  : — is  this  a  profitable  in- 
vestment?— and,  thus,  the  dollar  becomes  the  metre 
by  which  every  thing  is  estimated  when  it  passes 
under  the  scrutinizing  eye  of  so  prudent  and  parsimo- 
nious a  class.     The  student  is  regarded  as  a  dreamer. 
He  is  looked  upon  as  a  useless  member  of  society. 
He  does  not  immediately  produce  a  profitable  result, 
which  tells  upon  minds  that  are  always  listening 
for  echoes.     Literature  has  a  multiform  duty  assigned 
to  it. — It  is  the  recorder  of  history, — the  teacher 
of  truths,  moral  or  scientific, — the  vehicle  of  poetry 
and  amusement.     I  speak  of  Literature  in  its  higher 
offices,  for  we  can  scarcely  dignify  with  so  august  a 
title  that  mass  of  verbiage  which  suffices  for  the  ordi- 
nary conveyance  of  news,  or  for  political  discussion. — 
Literature,  then,  addresses  a  loftier  state  of  the  mind. 
It  is  not  content  with   mere  information,  although 
that  is  one  of  its  main  reliances;  but  it  looks  to  Phi- 
losophy as  the  analysis  of  human  action, — to  Poetry, 


12 

as  the  vehicle  of  sentiment  and  experience  to  the 
human  heart, — to  History,  as  the  Recording  Angel 
whose  pen  lingers  over  the  great  deeds  and  the  great 
thoughts  of  a  virtuous  ancestry.  Its  business  is  not 
only  with  the  present  but  the  past.  It  is  the  trea- 
surer of  intellectual  legacies ;  the  diffuser  of  generous 
sympathy — the  foe  of  selfishness,  the  vindicator  of 
mind,  the  nurse  of  ideality. 

It  was  remarked  by  Mr.  Legare, — one  of  the  purest 
scholars  given  by  America  to  the  world — in  advising 
a  young  friend,  at  the  outset  of  his  life,  that,  "  noth- 
ing is  more  perilous  in  America  than  to  be  too  long 
learning,  or  to  get  the  name  of  bookish."     Great,  in- 
deed, is  the  experience  contained  in  this  short  para- 
graph !    It  is  a  sentence  which  nearly  banishes  a 
man  from  the  fields  of  wealth,  for  it  seems  to  deny 
the  possibility  of  the  concurrent  lives  of  thought  and 
action.     The  "bookish"  man  cannot  be  the  "busi- 
ness" man!     And  such,  indeed,  has  been  the  prevail- 
ing tone  of  public  sentiment  for  the  last  thirty  or  forty 
years,  since  it  became  the  parental  habit  to  cast  our 
children  into  the  stream  of  trade  to  buifet  their  way 
to  fortune,  as  soon  as  they  were  able  either  to  make 
their  labor  pay,  or  to  relieve  their  parents  from  a 
part  of  the  expense  of  maintainance.     Early  taught 
that  the  duty  of  life  is  incompatible  with  the  pursuits 
of  a  student,  the  young  man  whose  school  years  gave 
promise  of  renown,  speedily  finds  himself  engaged  in 
the  mechanical  pursuit  of  a  business  upon  which  his 
bread  depends,  and  either  quits  forever  the  book  he 
loved,  or  steals  to  it  in  night  and  secrecy,  as  Numa 
did  to  the  tangled  crypt  when  he  wooed  Egeria ! 
In  the  old  world  there  are  two  classes  to  which 


13 


Literature  can  always  directly  appeal, — government, 
and  the  aristocracy.  That  which  is  elegant,  entertain- 
ing, tasteful,  remotely  useful,  or  merely  designed  for 
embellishment,  may  call  successfully  on  men  wiio  en- 
joy money  and  leisure,  and  are  ever  eager  in  the  pur- 
suit of  new  pleasures.  This  is  particularly  the  case 
with  individuals  whose  revenues  are  the  mere  alluvium 
of  wealth, — the  deposit  of  the  golden  tide  flowing  in 
with  regularity, — but  not  with  those  whose  fortunes 
are  won  from  the  world  in  a  struggle  of  enterprize. 
Such  men  do  not  enjoy  the  refreshing  occupation  of 
necessary  labor,  and  consequently,  they  crave  the 
excitement  of  the  intellect  and  the  senses.  Out  of 
this  want,  in  Europe,  has  sprung  the  Opera, — that 
magnificent  and  refmed  luxury  of  extreme  wealth — 
that  sublime  assemblage  of  all  that  is  exquisite  in 
dress,  decoration,  declamation,  melody,  picture,  mo- 
tion, art, — that  marriage  of  music  and  harmonious 
thought,  which  depends,  for  its  perfect  success, 
on  the  rarest  organ  of  the  human  frame.  The  pa- 
trons of  the  Opera  have  the  time  and  the  money  to 
bestow  as  rewards  for  their  gratification  ;  and  yet,  I 
am  still  captious  enough  to  be  discontented  with  a 
patronage,  springing,  in  a  majority  of  cases,  from  a 
desire  for  sensual  relaxation,  and  not  ofTered  as  a  fair 
recompense  in  the  barter  that  continually  occurs  in 
this  world  between  talent  and  money.  I  w  ould  level 
the  mind  of  the  mass  up  to  such  an  appreciative  posi- 
tion, that,  at  last,  it  would  regard  Literature  and  Art 
as  wants,  not  as  pastimes, — as  the  substantial  food, 
and  not  the  frail  confectionery  of  life. 

And  what  is  the  result,  in  our  country,  of  this  un- 
protective  sentiment  towards  Literature?     The  an- 
3 


14 

swer  is  found  in  the  fact  that  nearly  all  our  young 
men  whose  literary  tastes  and  abilities  force  them  to 
use  the  pen,  are  driven  to  the  daily  press,  where  they 
sell  their  minds,  by  retail,  in  paragraphs; — where 
they  print  their  crudities  without  sufficient  thought 
or  correction ; — where  the  iron  tongue  of  the  engine 
is  forever  bellowing  for  novelty; — where  the  daily 
morsel  of  opinion  must  be  coined  into  phrases  for 
daily  bread, — and  where  the  idea,  which  an  intelli- 
gent editor  should  expand  into  a  volume,  must  be 
condensed  into  an  aphoristic  sentence. 

Public  speaking  and  talk,  are  also  the  speediest 
mediums  of  plausible  conveyance  of  opinion  in  a  Re- 
public. The  value  of  talk  from  the  pulpit,  the  bar, 
the  senate,  and  the  street  corner,  is  inappreciable  in 
America.  There  is  no  need  of  its  cultivation  among 
us,  for  fluency  seems  to  be  a  national  gift.  From  the 
slow  dropping  chat  of  the  provoking  button  holder, 
to  the  prolonged  and  rotund  tumidities  of  the  stump 
orator — every  thing  can  be  achieved  by  a  harangue. 
It  is  a  fearful  facility  of  speech!  Men  of  genius  talk 
the  results  of  their  own  experience  and  reflection. 
Men  of  talent  talk  the  results  of  other  men's  minds ; 
and,  thus,  in  a  country  where  there  are  few  habitual 
students, — where  there  are  few  professed  authors, — 
where  all  are  mere  writers^ — where  there  is,  in  fact, 
scarcely  the  seedling  germ  of  a  national  literature,  w^e 
are  in  danger  of  becoming  mere  telegraphs  of  opinion, 
as  ignorant  of  the  full  meaning  of  the  truths  we  con- 
vey as  are  the  senseless  wires  of  the  electric  words 
which  thrill  and  sparkle  through  their  iron  veins! 

It  is  not  surprising,  then,  that  the  mass  of  American 
reading   consists  of  newspapers  and  novels; — that 


15 


nearly  all  our  good  books  are  imported  and  re- 
printed ; — that,  with  a  capacity  for  research  and  com- 
position quite  equal  to  that  of  England,  our  men  be- 
come editors  instead  of  authors.  No  man  but  a  well 
paid  parson,  or  a  millionaire,  can  indulge  in  the  ex- 
pensive delights  of  amateur  authorship.  Thus  it  is 
that  Sue  is  more  read  than  Scott.  Thus  it  is  that 
the  intense  literature  of  the  weekly  newspapers  is  so 
prosperous,  and  that  the  laborer,  who  longs  to  mingle 
cheaply  the  luxuries  of  wealth,  health  and  knowledge, 
purchases,  on  his  way  homeward,  with  his  pay  in 
his  pocket,  on  Saturday  night,  a  lottery  ticket,  a 
Sunday  newspaper,  and  a  dose  of  quack  physic,  so 
that  he  has  the  chance  of  winning  a  fortune  by  Mon- 
day, whilst  he  is  purifying  his  body  and  amusing  his 
mind,  without  losing  a  day  from  his  customary  toil! 

In  this  way  we  trace  downward  from  the  merchant 
and  the  literary  man  to  the  mechanic,  the  prevailing 
notion  in  our  country  of  necessary  devotion  to  labor 
as  to  a  dreary  task,  without  respite  or  relaxation. 
This  is  the  expansive  illustration  of  Mr.  Legar6's 
idea,  that  no  man  must  get,  in  America,  the  repute  of 
being  "  bookish."  And  yet,  what  would  become  of 
the  world  without  those  derided,  "  bookish  "  men '? — 
these  recorders  of  history — these  developers  of  sci- 
ence— these  philosophers — these  writers  of  fiction — 
these  thousand  scholars  who  are  continually  adding 
by  almost  imperceptible  contributions  to  the  know- 
ledge and  wealth  of  the  world?  Some  there  are, 
who,  in  their  day  and  generation,  indeed  ujyjjcar  to 
be  utterly  useless; — men  who  seem  to  be  literary 
idlers,  and,  yet,  whose  works  tell  upon  the  world  in 


16 


the  course  of  ages.  Such  was  the  character  of  the 
occupations  of  Atticus,  in  Rome,  and  of  Horace 
Walpole,  in  England.  Without  Atticus, — the  ele- 
gant scholar,  who  stood  aloof  from  the  noisy  contests 
of  politics,  and  cultivated  letters, — we  should  never 
have  had  the  delicious  correspondence  addressed  to 
him  by  Cicero.  Without  the  vanity,  selfishness,  ava- 
rice, and  dilletantism  of  Walpole,  we  should  never 
have  enjoyed  that  exquisite  mosaic-work  of  history, 
wit,  anecdote,  character  and  incident,  which  he  has 
left  us  in  the  letters  addressed  to  his  various  friends. 
Too  idle  for  a  sustained  work, — too  gossiping  for  the 
serious  strain  that  would  have  excluded  the  malice, 
scandal  and  small  talk  of  his  compositions, — he 
adopted  the  easy  chat  of  familiar  epistles,  and  con- 
verted his  correspondence  into  an  intellectual  curi- 
osity shop  whose  relics  are  now  becoming  of  inesti- 
mable value  to  a  posterity  which  is  greedy  for  details. 
No  character  is  to  be  found  in  history  that  unites 
in  itself  so  many  various  and  interesting  objects  as 
that  of  the  friend  of  Atticus.  Cicero  was  a  student, 
a  scholar,  a  devoted  friend  of  art,  and,  withal,  an 
eminent  "  man  of  business,"  He  was  at  home  in  the 
Tusculum  and  the  Senate.  It  was  supposed,  in  his 
day,  that  a  statesman  should  be  an  accomplished 
man.  It  was  the  prevailing  sentiment,  that  polish 
did  not  impair  strength.  It  was  believed  that  the 
highest  graces  of  oratory — the  most  effective  wisdom 
of  speech, — the  conscientious  advice  of  patriotic  ora- 
tory,— could  only  be  expected  from  a  zealous  student 
who  had  exhausted  the  experience  of  the  world  with- 
out the  dread  of  being  "bookish."  It  was  the  opin- 
ion that  ci^tivation  and  business  moved  hand  in 


17 


hand, — and  that  Cicero  could  criticise  the  texture  of 
a  papyrus,  the  grain  and  chiselling  of  a  statue^  or  the 
art  of  a  picture,  as  well  as  the  foreign  and  domestic 
relations  ol"  Rome.  Taste,  architecture,  morals,  po- 
etry, oratory,  gems,  rare  m;inuscripts,  curious  collec- 
tions, government,  popular  favor,  all,  in  turn,  engaged 
his  attention,  and,  for  all,  he  displayed  a  remarkable 
aptitude.  No  man  thought  he  was  less  a  "  business 
man  "  because  he  filled  his  dwelling  with  graups  of 
eloquent  marble;  because  he  bought  and  read  the 
rarest  books ;  because  he  chose  to  mingle  only  with 
the  best  and  most  intellectual  society ;  because  lie 
shunned  the  demagogue  and  never  used  his  arts  even 
to  suppress  crime !  Cicero  would  have  been  Cicero 
had  he  never  been  consul.  Place  gave  nothing  to 
Jiim  but  the  chance  to  save  his  country.  It  can  be- 
stow no  fame ;  for  fame  is  won  by  the  qualities  that 
should  win  place;  whilst  place  is  too  often  won  by 
the  tricks  that  should  condemn  the  practicer.  It  were 
well,  both  on  the  score  of  accomplishment  and  of  per- 
sonal biography,  that  our  own  statesmen  would  recol- 
lect the  history  of  a  man  wMiose  books  and  orations 
will  endear  him  to  a  posterity  which  will  scarcely 
know  that  he  was  a  ruler  in  Rome  ! 

If  I  thought  it  needful  to  enforce  the  compatibility 
of  scholarship  and  "business,"  I  might  sketch  the 
biography  of  a  patriot  who  has  lately  passed  from 
amongst  us,  Mr,  John  Quincy  Adams  was  a  re- 
markable proof  of  the  harmonious  blending  of  these 
qualities;  and  moreover,  he  was  a  signal  example  of 
what  an  individual  may  acquire  or  achieve  by  the 
steadfast  pursuit  of  a  worthy  object.     He  aimed  to 


18 

be  a  Christian  Gentleman,  and  his  conduct  and  cor- 
respondence attest,  that,  at  the  most  brilliant  court  of 
Europe,  he  turned  joyfully  from  the  fascinations  of 
royal  society,  to  kneel  in  unaffected  humility  before 
his  God,  and  that  whilst  using  his  pen,  in  public,  for 
the  international  welfare  of  Russia  and  America,  he 
devoted  it,  in  secret,  to  disclose  to  a  beloved  son,  the 
musings  of  a  soul  penetrated  with  the  truths  of  Chris- 
tianity. He  strove  to  be  eminent  as  a  rhetorician, 
and  his  verse,  as  well  as  his  prose,  proves  the  extra- 
ordinary command  he  obtained  over  his  native  lan- 
guage. Endowed  with  a  mind  that  mastered  every 
useful  or  interesting  fact  and  anecdote  in  national 
story  or  personal  biography,  and  remembering  all  its 
accumulations  at  will,  he  became  the  most  delightful 
companion  in  our  country.  Knowing  all  the  distin- 
guished men  of  both  continents,  either  personally  or 
by  correspondence, — having  witnessed,  in  the  old  and 
new  worlds,  most  of  the  great  events  of  the  eighteenth 
and  nineteenth  centuries, — and  enjoying  the  dialectic 
skill  of  a  prompt  debater, — he  labored  to  acquire  the 
fame  of  an  orator  w  ho  could  convince  or  crush  his 
opponents,  and  delighted  Senates  held  their  breath 
while  the  "  old  man  eloquent"  poured  forth  his  wis- 
dom, his  wit,  his  sarcasm  and  his  experience.  Tempted 
onward  and  upward,  he  became  the  master-spirit  of 
the  American  cabinet ;  and,  at  last,  crowned  his  emi- 
nent career  of  industry  and  public  virtue,  by  occupy- 
ing the  presidential  chair,  from  which,  with  true 
democratic  simplicity,  he  descended  to  the  popular 
arena  of  Congress,  which  witnessed  the  most  bril- 
liant triumphs  of  his  political  life  and  the  still  more 
august  glories  of  his  Christian  death  ! 


19 

This  is  an  example  of  what  may  be  done  by  an 
encouraged  and  supported  ordinary  mind  ;  for  the  in- 
tellect of  Mr.  Adams,  when  critically  judged,  must 
be  regarded  as  rather  more  capacious  for  acquirement 
than  creation.  He  was  not  a  man  of  genius  ;  yet  he 
mingled  the  useful  and  the  agreeable  with  more  skill, 
perhaps,  than  any  of  the  distinguished  statesmen  of 
America  during  the  last  two  decades  of  our  history. 

I  can  readily  sympathize,  nevertheless,  with  per- 
sons who  fear  devoting  their  children  to  the  pursuits 
of  Literature.  Scholarship  is  a  great  privilege  or  a 
great  danger.  It  must  not  become  an  absorbing,  es- 
sential, or  exclusive  purpose.  Its  relation  to  life 
must  never  become  anything  more  than  that  of  a 
graceful  handmaid.  The  danger  of  excessive  scho- 
larship is  to  make  a  man  unfit  for  any  thing  but  a 
schoolmaster, — and,  properly  speaking,  not  even  for 
that,  because  schoolmasters  usually  teach  more  of 
language  than  of  idea, — more  of  the  vehicle  than 
the  substance  it  bears.  This  is  the  glaring  error  of 
modern  teaching,  wiiich  feeds  and  disgust  pupils  with 
the  husk  of  language, — tasking  their  memory  instead 
of  enlightening  their  understanding,  wearying  their 
ears  instead  of  fdling  their  minds  with  divine  and 
eternal  echoes  of  principle,  truth,  art,  right,  and  the 
liberal  Christianity  that  flows  from  them. 

There  are  two  kinds  of  great  acquisition  which 
have  always  appeared  to  me  to  be  properly  classed 
among  the  humbugs  of  the  age,  both  of  which,  never- 
theless, have  their  valuable  uses  when  judiciously  ap- 
plied. I  mean  the  acquisition  of  great  wealth  and  of 
great  learning, — the  hoarding  of  dimes  and  dollars, 
and  the  miserly  thrift  of  Greek  roots,  Hebrew  ac- 


20 


cents,  and  Latin  quantities.  These  deposits  of  men- 
tal and  monetary  riches  may  become  intellectual 
banks  which  discount  their  treasures  to  the  needy; 
but,  personally  considered,  the  great  Parr  and  the 
greater  Porson,  are  very  little  better  than  the  door- 
keepers of  such  corporations.  The  great  scholar  is 
often  an  intellectual  miser,  who  expends  the  spiri- 
tual energy  that  might  make  him  a  hero,  upon  the 
detection  of  a  wrong  dot,  a  false  syllable,  or  an  inac- 
curate word ! 

These  are  some  of  the  real  and  imaginary  dangers 
of  scholarship  or  student  life.  Like  all  pursuits, 
it  may  run  into  extremes  and  make  men  solitary, 
moody,  inactive  and  exclusive ; — but,  if  we  consider 
the  other  side  of  the  picture,  and  study  the  immense 
benefits  it  is  likely  to  bestow  on  those  who  pursue  it 
with  a  judicious  spirit,  we  shall,  in  time,  learn  to  ap- 
preciate such  merchants  as  Solon,*  Roscoe,  and  Hope. 
In  Europe, — especially  on  the  Continent, — it  is  the 
pleasure  of  Governments  to  appreciate  and  foster  men 
of  genius  whose  position  or  means  are  incompatible 
with  their  tastes.  They  bestow  pensions  or  personal 
honors  which  make  such  men  conspicuous.  This  is 
especially  needful  for  the  maintainance  of  those  who 
occupy  themselves  in  entertaining  or  instructive  lite- 
rature, in  w^orks  of  fiction,  or  with  the  fine  arts. 
Politics, — as  the  occupation  of  a  mere  literary  class, — 
has  not  been  hitherto  permitted,  except  in  France, 
and,  even  there,  under  restrictions  of  a  formidable 
character. 

This  pension  system,  however,  is  one  that  is  not  to 
be  approved.     Men  who  think  and  write  well,  should 

*  It  will  be  remembered  that  Solon  began  life  as  a  supercargo. 


21 


not  be  supported  by  Government  but  by  tbe  people. 
Pensions  are  apt  to  buy  men.  We  do  not  willingly 
speak  ill  of  the  man  wlio  is  di.sposed  to  aflord  us  com- 
petence and  leisure.  We  are  not  directly  bribed, — 
yet,  our  sen.se  of  decency  keeps  us  quiet ;  and,  thus, 
there  are  in  Continental  Europe  hosts  of  authors, 
painters,  sculptors,  poets,  and  statesmen,  who  receive 
the  money  and  the  decorations  of  princes  whose 
thrones  they  surround  with  a  brilliant  cordon  of  ge- 
nius, but  who  are  dumb  forever  in  the  cause  of  the 
people  and  of  progress.  They  think  a  pension  and 
a  star  better  than  a  prison  and  darkness,  and  the  au- 
thor, by  compulsion,  w^anders  off  to  the  realms  of 
fancy  and  art  from  the  political  realities  of  the  dreary 
present. 

England  is  free  from  this,  because  in  that  country 
talent  is  made  available  in  other  shapes.    The  press 
is  free.     There  is  no  censorship.     Men  think,  write 
and  speak  what  they  please;  and,  if  they  are  per- 
sonally false,  the  law  makes  them  responsible.     But 
the  English  author  is  recompensed  for  what  he  writes 
by  his  publisher, — whilst  the  American  author  is  not 
recompensed  by  his  publisher,  because  copy-right  in 
this  country  can  have  no  value  as  long  as  our  printers 
may  appropriate  all  the  literature  of  England  with- 
out a  corresponding  compensation  to  its  authors.     I 
have  always  regarded  the  appeal  to  our  Congress  for 
an  international  copy-right  law  as  extremely  just ; — 
not,  however,  for  the  protection  of  the  English  author, 
but  for  the  creation  of  an  American  copy-right.     The 
British  author  writes  for  the  British  nation,  not  for 
the  English   tongue; — he  addresses  himself  to    his 
country,  not  to  liis  language,  for  his  recompense,  and 
4 


22 


the  money  he  obtains  for  his  book  is  not  a  dollar 
more  nor  less  than  he  would  receive  if  no  such  coun- 
try as  America  existed.  Our  printers,  therefore,  do 
him  no  wrong,  whilst  he,  unwillingly  and  indirectly, 
does  infinite  harm  to  American  authors  by  employing 
himself  in  literary  composition. 

An  international  copy-right  law,  therefore,  should 
be  passed, — not  in  the  spirit  of  an  exclusive  or  pro- 
tective tariff,  but  as  a  law  under  the  shield  of  which 
a  truly  national  literature  might  grow  up;  because 
American  authors  would  then  really  possess  rights 
they  could  sell,  and  might  fairly  enter  into  com- 
petition with  the  British.  As  the  law  now  operates, 
there  is  neither  protection  to  the  foreign,  or  value  to 
American  copy-right. 

A  literature  thus  founded,  and  sustained  by  the 
liberal  spirit  of  men  of  wealth  and  by  proper  legisla- 
tion, will  soon  develop  its  peculiar  national  features. 
It  will  reflect  the  daily  life  and  the  political  history 
of  our  country  and  its  intellect.  It  will  speak  more 
from  present  influences  than  past  records.  It  will 
disclose  principles,  habits  and  institutions,  kindred 
with  our  own.  It  will  restrain  that  mawkish  imita- 
tion of  the  worst  features  of  European  fashion  and 
civilization.  It  will  be  straightforward,  manly,  free, 
critical,  pure,  republican.  It  will  extinguish  the  in- 
tense school  of  sensual  literature,  and  raise  gradually 
the  moral  and  Christian  tone  of  society.  It  will  make 
us  judge  for  ourselves,  and  save  us  from  the  credulous 
adoption  of  English  prejudices  in  regard  to  men  and 
nations.  We  shall  have  no  second-hand  opinions ;  but 
will  adopt  our  own  criticism.  This  may  be  a  work  of 
time ;  but  its  progress  will  be  as  sure  as  it  is  beneficial. 


23 


Such  are  some  of  the  vast  benefits  to  be  derived 
from  tlie  min«^liiiii:  'ind   mutual  appreciation  of  tlie 
scholar,  the  student,  and  the   merchant.     Sucli  are 
the  results  which  the  vast  wealth  deposited  in  the 
mercantile   class   is   to   produce,  when  liberally  di- 
rected.    Such  is  to  be  tlie  elfective  operation  of  the 
admirable  institution  of  noble-hearted  clerks,  within 
whose  walls  I  address  you  to-night,  and  around  which 
are  spread  the  testimonials  of  their  devotion  to  the 
intellectual  progress  of  their  class.     Wiser  than  those 
who  went  before  them,  they  perceive  the  true  dignity 
of  commerce  and  tlie  advantage  the  merchant  pro- 
perly derives  from  enlightment.     They  discern  that 
the  meanest  of  mankind  may  trade  and  trailic  ; — that 
the  most  uneducated  may  deal  in  merchandize,  and 
by  trick,  contrivance,  lucky  speculation,  the  fortunate 
position  of  a  store,  or  the  alliance  of  an  influential 
and  wealthy  family,  may  acquire  money,  or  increase 
enormously  what  they  already  possess.     They  see 
that  commerce  is  a  nobler  sphere  than  this.     They 
perceive  that  to  plan  a  great  voyage,  or  to  conduct 
it  to  a  successful  issue,  requires  a  kind  of  generalship 
in  this  campaign  against  the  seasons,  elements  and 
wants  of  the  earth.     A  good  merchant  should  be  a 
good  geographer,  something  of  a  statesman,  philoso- 
pher and  historian.     He  should  know  the  character, 
habits,  tastes,  fancies  and  wants  of  every  nation,  so 
as  to  shape  his  ventures  with  wisdom.     There  was  a 
time,  during  the  last  century,  when  w^ars  were  more 
common  in  the  world,  wiien  the  tonnage  was  less, 
and  when  colonial  enterprise   had   not  thrown    the 
dense  population  of  the  old  world  on  every  island  that 
studs  the  surface  of  distant  seas.     Then  it  was  that 


24 


the  merchant  was  a  king,  when  he  sent  fcjrth  his  gal- 
lant fleets  on  their  long  voyages  to  trade  in  the  In- 
dian oceans.  The  enterprises  of  Mr.  Astor,  so  beau- 
tifully sketched  by  Washington  Irving,  display  this 
feature  of  mercantile  history  and  knowledge.  The 
means  of  accurate  information,  disclosed  by  statistics 
and  geographical  science,  have  somewhat  modified 
these  risks  and  required  less  mature  deliberation  in 
modern  commerce;  yet  the  history  of  trade  attests 
that  the  well  informed  merchant  is  always  the  safest 
and  happiest,  if  not  the  richest  of  his  class. 

Of  all  the  pursuits  to  which  Literature  invokes 
us,  none  are  more  attractive  or  useful  than  those 
of  History.  History  is  the  biography  of  nations.  It 
contains  the  germ  of  the  future  sown  in  the  soil  of 
the  past.  It  is  a  solemn  lesson  of  political,  per- 
sonal and  national  experience.  It  surveys  the  world 
from  an  eminence.  It  grasps  and  gathers  the  frail 
records  of  the  past,  and  gleans  the  field  of  human 
action  after  the  great  mower — Time — has  svk^ept  it 
with  his  relentless  scythe.  And  it  is  a  sad  reflection 
that  the  gleaner  has,  so  often,  nothing  for  his  pains  but 
a  few  straws  from  which  the  grain  has  been  tram- 
pled!  History  comprehends  all  styles  of  literature ; 
and,  thus,  becomes  the  most  interesting  species  of 
composition.  It  deals  with  scenery,  narrative  of  ac- 
tion, dialogue,  dress,  decoration,  geography,  climate, 
national  character,  individual  biography; — and,  from 
the  whole,  extracts  the  philosophy  of  human  action. 

It  is  a  small  and  selfish  spirit  which  teaches  us  that 
we  are  only  creatures  of  the  present  hour,  and  that 


25 


we  perform  our  parts  best  when  we  attend  to  our 
personal  tasks  witliuut  reference  either  to  the  past  or 
the  future.  There  is  no  philosophy  in  such  a  course. 
It  is  one  which  would  altogether  shut  out  the  lights 
of  experience,  because  it  would  not  contemplate  the 
aspect  of  what  had  gone  by, — and,  would  discard  a 
wise  adaptation  of  means  to  success,  because  it  would 
have  no  hope  for  what  was  to  come.  "  We  are  be- 
ings with  allinities.  Neither  the  point  of  time,  nor 
the  spot  of  earth,  in  which  we  physically  live,  bounds 
our  rational  and  intellectual  enjoyments.  There  may 
be  and  there  often  is,  indeed,  a  regard  for  ancestry 
which  nourishes  a  weak  pride ;  as  there  is,  also, 
a  care  for  posterity  which  only  disguises  habitual 
avarice  or  hides  the  w^orking  of  a  low  and  grovelling 
vanity.  But  there  is  also  a  moral  and  philosophical 
respect  for  our  ancestry,  which  elevates  the  character 
and  improves  the  heart."* 

I  would  not  inculcate  this  loyal  respect  for  ances- 
try in  consequence  of  the  renown  it  casts  upon  our 
own  persons;  but  a  disregard  of  our  forefathers 
seems  to  be  an  actual  courting  of  oblivion  for  our- 
selves,— a  clear  intimation  to  those  who  come  after, 
that  they  are  neither  to  reverence  our  example  nor 
to  be  warned  by  our  errors.  Indeed,  it  is  astonish- 
ing, when  we  reflect  how  little  we  truly  live  for  our- 
selves, whilst  how  much  that  we  do,  affects  our  suc- 
cessors. Life  is  too  short  to  reach  the  absolute  re- 
sults of  any  man's  thoughts  or  deeds  whose  existence 
is  not  merely  animal. 

♦Webster's  Plymouth  Oration,  p.  7. 


26 


The  scheme  of  this  Athenaeum  mcludes  a  Society 
devoted  to  History ;  and,  in  the  four  years  of  its  ex- 
istence, it  has  wrought  zealously  in  the  arduous  task 
of  gathering  a  valuable  library  of  reference,  in  col- 
lecting tiie  scattered  fragments  of  our  Colonial  and 
State  history,  in  uniting  a  series  of  publications  illus- 
trative of  national  history,  and  in  corresponding  with 
distinjjuished  men  or  affiliated  societies  in  other 
States,  who  have  been  engaged  for  longer  periods  in 
similar  pursuits. 

The  idea  of  a  Historical  Society  does  not  necessa- 
rily include  the  composition  of  complete  works  rela- 
tive to  individuals  or  epochs.  Being  formed  by  the 
association  of  numerous  persons,  the  Society  is  de- 
voted to  the  humbler  duty  of  assembling  facts,  and 
preserving  those  minute  particles  of  biography  and 
story  which  might  easily  escape  the  notice  of  future 
authors.  The  history  of  Maryland,  and,  indeed,  of 
all  the  States  of  this  Union,  is  pregnant  with  such 
examples  of  loss.  Time,  the  moth,  neglect,  volun- 
tary destruction,  and  the  fashionable  rage  for  auto- 
graph hunting,  have  destroyed  immense  quantities  of 
colonial  and  revolutionary  documents,  so  that  there 
are  periods  in  our  history,  which  are  dim  for  the  want 
of  the  materials  that  would  have  been  preserved  had 
such  conservatories  been  instituted  immediately  after 
the  independence  of  our  Union. 

"  It  is  pleasing  to  perceive," — said  Mr.  Adams  in  a 
letter  written  in  1845 — "  the  growing  interest  taken 
by  the  rising  generation  in  the  collection  and  preser- 
vation of  the  historical  details  of  the  revolutionary 
conflict  of  our  fathers.  The  institution  of  Historical 
Societies  in  so  many  States  of  our  Union  promises  to 


27 


our  posterity  a  plcd'ije  contradictory  of  the  inisanthro- 
pic  declaration  of  Sir  Hubert  Walpole,  that  all  his- 
tory is  and  must  be  false.  It  is,  indeed,  conformable 
to  all  experience  that  the  history  of  periods,  and 
events,  pregnant  with  consequences  affecting  the  con- 
dition of  the  human  race,  can  be  but  imperfectly 
known  to  the  actors  and  contemporaries  of  them. 
There  is  a  French  work,  entitled,  '  History  of  Great 
Events  from  Little  Causes,'  and  there  are  perhaps 
very  few  of  the  great  events  in  the  history  of  man- 
kind to  which  little  causes  have  not  largely  con- 
tributed. I  think  it  is  a  remark  of  Voltaire,  that 
posterity  is  always  eager  for  details;  and  among  the 
incidents  of  that  convulsion  of  the  family  of  civilized 
man, — which  began  with  the  writs  of  assistants  and 
the  stamp  act,  and  ended  in  the  foundation  of  the 
proudest  empire  that  the  world  has  ever  known, — the 
relations  of  the  colonies  of  England  swelling  into 
sovereign  States,  with  the  conquered  colony  of 
France  inefTectually  sought  to  be  united  with  them 
in  the  struggle  for  freedom  and  independence, — 
there  are  causes  of  detail  so  widely  dilfercnt  from 
those  which  operated  on  the  mass,  that  they  will 
require  the  keenest  perception  and  profoundest  medi- 
tation of  the  future  philosophical  historian  to  assign 
to  them  their  proper  station  and  weight  as  elements 
in  the  composition  of  the  complicated  and  won- 
drous tale." 

It  is  precisely  for  the  purpose  of  preserving  these 
details  of  incident,  character  and  adventure,  that  His- 
torical Societies  are  chiefly  useful.  They  become 
receptacles  of  fact,  into  which  the  honest  and  indus- 
trious student  may  freely  come  and  carefully  collate 


28 


the  discordant  materials  that  have  been  accumulated, 
with  commendable  industry,  for  future  use. 

The  more  we  read  of  history,  the  more  we  must  be 
convinced  of  the  comparative  worthlessness  of  what 
has  been  frequently  written  and  regarded  as  authen- 
tic. Governments  carefully  lock  up  their  archives 
and  diplomatic  correspondence  from  contemporary 
historians,  until  a  century  or  two  elapses  after  the 
events  they  seek  to  describe.  Writing  from  a  party, 
national,  or  religious  view  of  the  question  or  period, 
they  disclose  whatever  suits  their  prejudices  or  inter- 
ests. Let  an  Englishman  take  up  the  cause  of  the 
quarrel  with  Ireland,  or  the  motives  of  the  late  war 
with  China,  and,  will  he  be  able  to  prepare  a  reliable 
history  from  the  general  statements  that  are  commonly 
circulated  ?  I  will  not  dare  to  say  that  the  narrator 
designs  wilfully  to  falsify ;  but  such  must  ever  be  the 
effect  of  political  partialities,  such  the  vehement  ani- 
mosity of  bigoted  sects,  that  even  the  purest  citizens 
may  be  blinded  to  the  truth.  Alison's  History  of 
Europe, — the  work  of  an  English  tory,  upon  the 
Napoleonic  period, — became  a  text  book  as  soon  as  it 
issued  from  the  press,  and  yet,  what  American  can 
observe  the  ignorance  displayed  in  the  chapter  on  the 
war  between  Great  Britain  and  the  United  States, 
and  not  be  convinced  that  an  author  who  has  been 
so  false  in  regard  to  the  history  with  which  we  are 
acquainted,  must,  needs,  be  equally  faithless  as  to 
that  with  which  we  are  less  familiar  ?  Read  Lin- 
gard's  history  of  the  reigns  of  Elizabeth  and  Mary, 
and  then  turn  to  the  pages  of  Hume  wherein  the 
same  period  is  discussed.     Both  of  these  authors  ex- 


29 


pected  and  courted  the  criticism  of  posterity  ;  yet 
their  motives  and  deductions  are  as  distant  as  the 
poles, — and  who  sliali  decide  between  them  ?  Kead 
the  Catholic  and  Protestant  iiistories  of  the  Inquisi- 
tion, of  the  Knights-Templar,  of  tlie  Reformation, 
of  the  Sicilian  Vespers,  of  the  massacre  of  St.  ;3ar- 
tholomew, — and  who  shall  extract  a  veracious  story 
from  the  earnest  narratives  of  either  7 

The  great  leading  facts, — the  palpable  events, — 
those  things  which  are  known  to  all  the  world 
because  they  passed  under  the  world's  eye, — may, 
in  most  cases,  be  admitted ; — but  the  secret  policy 
of  Governments  or  Courts, — the  unseen  springs  of 
human  action, — the  impulses  that  have  driven  na- 
tions to  grandeur  or  ruin, — these  are  but  rarely 
disclosed  with  candour  to  the  generation  in  which 
they  occur,  or,  not  until  the  world  has,  for  cen- 
turies, been  filled  with  error  in  regard  to  them. 
At  last,  time  and  truth,  like  the  bones  of  the  Pro- 
phet, revivify  the  dust  which  they  touch  in  the 
grave ! 

There  are  few  greater  mistakes  than  to  take  for 
granted  the  great  mass  of  documents  which  are  the 
common  materials  for  history  annually  published, 
even  by  free  Governments.  They  are  often  designed 
to  conceal  rather  than  to  manifest  the  truth.  Fine 
phrases,  patriotic  speeches,  mutual  compliments, 
general  principles  addressed  to  the  universal  com- 
prehension, form  but  a  deceptive  surfoce,  beneath 
which  rolls  the  dark  and  turbid  tide  of  personal 
ambition,  rank  with  meanness  and  the  most  absorb- 
ing selfishness. 


30 


If  the  history  of  our  own  times,  then,  is  so  grossly 
or  diversely  represented  by  party  motives,  how  far 
more  dilHcult  is  it  for  us  to  search  the  dreary  vista  of 
antiquity  in  order  to  find  the  details  of  the  obscure 
past?  Amid  all  the  fluctuations  of  time,  but  one 
thing  has  remained  steadfast.  The  heart  of  man  has 
continued  the  same  through  all  ages.  The  same  pas- 
sions, the  same  reasons,  have  governed  him  on  the 
shores  of  the  Euphrates  and  on  the  banks  of  the 
Sacramento.  Contending  with  his  fellows  in  the 
career  of  love,  avarice  or  ambition, — the  same  parti- 
zanship  has  controlled  his  spirit  and  inspired  him 
when  he  wrote  the  story  of  his  time.  He  hated  the 
successful,  if  his  enemy; — he  lauded  and  magnified 
the  victor,  if  his  friend.  Who,  then,  shall  verify  the 
purity  of  that  success  which  has  made  so  many 
names  immortal,  or  tell  us  whether  victory,  alone, 
was  not  all  that  sanctified  a  life  of  baseness  or  crime  ? 
It  required  two  centuries  to  unmask  the  saintship  of 
Charles  the  first  and  to  destroy  the  bloody  garments 
with  which  toryism  had  invested  Cromwell ! 

Thus,  there  are  two  histories,  as  well  as  two  par- 
ties, constantly  running  in  parallel  lines,  in  every 
country, — the  secret  and  the  apparent.  One,  evident, 
with  all  the  show  of  honest  disinterestedness  and 
public  faith ;  the  other  marked  with  the  reverse  of 
all  these  characteristics,  but  suppressed  by  those  who 
have  the  skill  to  hide  truth,  or  the  adroitness  to  make 
victory  always  virtuous. 

What,  then,  are  the  credible  things  of  history  ? 
Well,  perhaps,  did  Walpole  exclaim,  in  the  bitterness 
of  his  heart : — "  as  for  history — I  know  it  to  be  a  lie !" 
State  papers  diplomatically  false,  memoirs  notoriously 


31 

mendacious,  correspondence  systematically  and  mali- 
ciously misrepresenting, — newspapers,  ignorant,  de- 
ceived or  the  vehicles  of  political  hatred, — reports, 
which  are  the  revelations  or  suppressions  of  party, — 
bulletins  that  announce  falsehoods  by  supreme  au- 
thority,— legends  that  become  the  great  traditionary 
lies  of  ages, — these  are  some  of  the  authorities  that 
are  condensed  by  the  perverted  talent  of  a  partizan 
into  history ! 

In  contemplating  such  a  picture  of  historic  mate- 
rials, I  have  been  led  to  believe  that  one  of  the  great- 
est benefits  of  our  age  has  been  conferred  in  the 
establishment  of  properly  conducted  Historical  So- 
cieties. A  corporation  escapes  the  errors  of  an  indi- 
vidual. It  decides  upon  evidence,  like  a  jury  composed 
of  men  of  all  creeds,  classes,  and  parties.  It  necessa- 
rily brings  forth  a  vast  quantity  of  crudities  ;  yet  it 
discloses,  or,  may  disclose  all  the  facts;  and  thus  the 
individual  who,  hereafter,  seeks  to  write  the  story  of 
our  age,  will  find  around  him,  preserved  with  impar- 
tial care,  every  thing  that  we  had  the  ability  to  res- 
cue during  the  epoch  in  which  we  live. 

This  aggregation  of  the  labors  of  many  minds ; 
this  blending  the  views  of  all  parties  and  all  reli- 
jrions ;  this  officious  zeal  in  the  detection  of  all  mo- 
tives;  will  be  the  means  of  leaving  to  our  successors 
the  legacy  of  a  mass  of  documents  and  papers,  for 
which  posterity  w-ill  thank  us.  To  ourselves,  per- 
haps, it  is  a  thankless  oflice ;  to  many  it  seems  a  tri- 
fling, gossiping,  or  useless  one ; — but  we  enjoy  the  con- 
sciousness of  doing  a  service  for  those  who  are  to  fill 
our  places,  because  we  feel  the  neglect  of  similar  pur- 
suits by  those  who  have  preceded  us. 


32 


Tlic  importance  then  of  Historical  Societies,  as  the 
means  of  associating  gentlemen  in  the  pursuit  of 
truth,  and  of  inducing  them  to  devote  themselves, 
individually,  to  the  composition  of  historical  works, 
will  be  evident,  I  trust,  to  all  who  hear  me.  It  should 
be  their  duty  to  reverse  the  law  of  nature,  in  relation 
to  sound.  The  tones  of  human  voices  are  ever  loud- 
est where  they  are  first  uttered.  The  echoes  of  true 
fame  should  be  most  distinct  as  they  recede  from 
their  object  in  the  vast  vista  of  time. 

A  mere  student  ought  never  write  the  biography  of 
a  man  of  action, — for  they  lack  sympathy.  Sympa- 
thy, regulated  by  a  just  mind,  is  the  soul  of  true  ap- 
preciation, and,  without  it,  a  writer  is  naturally  led 
to  condemn  motives  and  conduct  which  he  cannot 
comprehend  or  approve.  Thus  it  is  by  no  means 
singular  to  discover  in  modern  literature  such  variant 
criticism  of  the  most  distinguished  personages.  The 
critical  sketch  of  Napoleon,  by  Dr.  Channing,  in 
American  literature,  is  an  excellent  illustration  of 
this  subject.  A  meek  Christian  minister  should  not 
have  undertaken  to  review  the  life  of  such  a  man  as 
the  Emperor.  Jove  might  as  well  have  made  a  dove 
the  bearer  of  his  thunderbolts. 

High  and  holy  are  the  lessons  of  true  and  philo- 
sophic history.  Profound  and  solemn  is  its  wisdom. 
It  immortalizes  the  good — it  gibbets  the  bad.  It  re- 
cords the  progress  of  worth — it  denounces  the  wretch- 
edness of  wrong.  It  holds  up  to  scorn  the  mean  mo- 
tiv^e,  the  bloody  crime,  the  desolating  example  of  am- 
bition.    Teaching  truth, — it  teaches,  also,  the  wisest 


33 

economy  of  individuals,  who,  handed  in  Ici^ishitive 
hodie.s, — create  the  j^lory  or  shame  of  their  epoch.  It 
shows  that  every  age  is  but  a  step  in  the  vast  sclieme 
of  eternity,  and  that  new  empires  are  built  out  of  the 
ruins  of  those  that  are  lost.  But  its  lessons  do  not 
stop  with  the  material  decay  or  amalgamation  of 
races.  It  has  a  current  of  philosophy  winding,  like 
a  thread,  through  its  mazes  of  fact;  and  this  philoso- 
phy leads  the  wise  and  patriotic  political  student  to 
direct  his  country  into  the  path  that  conducts  her  to 
industrial  prosperity,  moral  grandeur,  and  national 
dignity.  The  great  and  true  historian  deserves  to 
rank  by  the  side  of  the  great  prophet,  for  his  lessons 
direct  the  destinies  of  humanity. 

It  is  a  matter  of  just  pride,  that  the  uses  of  this 
edifice  do  not  stop  even  here.  The  subjects  we 
have  already  treated  embrace  what  are  perhaps 
usually  regarded  as  the  most  prominent  interests 
of  mankind;  but  there  is  another  branch  of  human 
pursuits  wdiich  I  crave  permission  to  consider  of 
equal  importance.  We  have  devoted  a  portion  of 
this  building  to  Art; — we  design  to  familiarize  the 
public  mind  with  beauty  and  grandeur,  and,  by  the 
influence  of  pictures  and  statues,  to  create  new  stand- 
ards of  tasteful  and  enlightened  opinion. 

Tne  mere  ability  to  delineate  known  forms;  to 
exhibit  them  with  anatomical  accuracy;  to  clothe 
them  in  graceful  costume;  to  perpetuate  the  memory 
of  men  by  copying  their  faces;  to  spread  color  on 
canvass  with  method,  skill,  and  just  relation  ;  to  talk 
of  chiaro-oscuro  w  ith  learned  emphasis  ;  to  condemn 
painters  and  sculptors  because  their  works  do  not 


34 


correspond  with  the  rules  that  are  laid  down  by 
academies  and  professors, — these  do  not  constitute 
Art  in  that  exalted  sense  which  true  analysis 
has  found  it  to  possess.  They  are,  indeed,  some  of 
the  means  of  artistic  success,  but  they  no  more 
form  the  essential  element  of  delineative  science  than 
does  language  suffice  to  convince  unless  it  is  impreg- 
nated with  meaning.  Language  is  the  plumage  of 
thought.  Music  is  the  interpretation  of  sentiment  by 
melody.  Art  is  the  vehicle  of  idea  by  form  and  color. 
The  mere  servile  limner  of  features  has  a  talent 
which  is  not  superior  to  the  monkey,  the  looking 
glass,  or  the  mechanical  daguerreotype.  It  is  that  of 
imitation  or  reflection,  alone.  But  the  Artist  forgets, 
for  a  while,  that  his  subject  possesses  a  body,  and  look- 
ing through  the  fleshy  exterior,  into  the  mind  of  his 
subject,  he  penetrates  individual  character,  and  thus, 
by  a  spiritual  process,  transfers  to  canvass  the  very 
soul  of  man.  His  pictures  become  biographies.  We 
do  not  gaze  on  them  to  assist  memory  ;  but  every  look 
puts  us  in  direct  intellectual  communication  with  the 
man  or  the  scene,  and  even  the  dead  come  from  their 
graves  to  speak  to  us  again  from  the  senseless  wood ! 
Art,  then,  does  not  deal  with  what  is  immediately 
obvious,  but  catches  and  discloses  the  hidden  senti- 
ment. The  Egyptians  turned  this  principle  to  ac- 
count when  they  made  pictures  language.  It  was 
this  that  made  painting  and  sculpture  such  valuable 
adjuncts  of  religion.  The  art  which  springs  from 
Idolatry  creates  the  statue,  and  makes  divinity  palpa- 
ble. The  art  which  springs  from  Christianity  makes 
the  picture.  The  one  demands  embodiment ;  the 
other  is  content  with   idea.     The  one   exacts  con- 


35 

centration, — the  other  expansion.     The  one  freezes 
into  stone, — the  other  expands  in  oil. 

The  eflect  which  the  Roman  (Jatiiolic  religion  lias 
had  upon  the  arts  is  notorious.  The  church  sought 
to  appeal  to  man  by  his  senses  as  well  as  by  iiis  in- 
tellect, and  thus  the  really  great  masters  of  the  brush, 
the  chisel,  and  the  lyre,  were  induced  to  devote  their 
lives  to  the  adornment  of  the  sanctuary  and  the  cele- 
bration of  its  august  services.  Priest,  Prelate  and 
Pope  were  the  great  patrons  of  art ;  and  thus  the 
minds  of  sensitive  people  were  constantly  furnished 
with  eloquent  symbols  of  love,  hope,  fear  and  immor- 
tality. In  Italy,  Art  is  therefore  dignified  as  one  of 
the  powerful  coadjutors  of  Religion,  and  painters  are 
a  hieroglyphic  priesthood,  inspired  by  Heaven  and 
divine  by  that  inspiration.  The  monk  preaches  from 
the  pulpit  with  temporary  unction,  but  the  painter 
preaches,  forever,  from  the  walls  of  church  or  chapel. 
The  one  is  a  temporal  teacher,  whose  ministry 
ceases  with  his  life  ;  the  other  is  an  orator,  ekxjuent 
through  all  time.  The  one  is  a  minister,  with  all  the 
frailties  of  humanity;  the  other  a  spiritual  voice, 
reaching  the  soul,  and  embodied  in  the  instructive 
forms  and  colors  which  genius  has  conceived  in  its 
wTapt  meditations  upon  the  spirit  and  story  of  Chris- 
tianity. The  priest  and  the  painter  are  thus  indisso- 
lubly  united  in  Italy,  and  art  exalts  the  character  of 
the  man  who  practices  it. 

Yet,  it  will  be  granted,  in  order  to  attain  so  dis- 
tinguished a  position,  something  naore  is  required 
than  the  mere  pictorial  image  of  that  which  occurs 
to  an  ordinary  imagination  when  it  endeavors  to  re- 
alize an  event  by  grouping  the  figures  of  its  actors. 


36 

Tlie  great  Artist  must  be  the  great  inventor, — the 
oreat  1\>et  !  Beauty  of  form  and  idea  must  keep 
beauty  of  color  and  effect  in  due  subordination.  But 
these,  combined  in  harmonious  union,  produce  the 
o-reat  poetic,  religious,  or  historic  picture.  And  yet, 
the  majority  of  thriving  painters  or  sculptors,  subsist 
on  but  one,  alone,  of  these  elements  of  artistic  power ! 
None  can  be  truly  great  without  the  great  idea ; — all 
others  paint  mere  lay  figures,  or  copy  the  ordinary 
features  of  landscapes. 

Exclusive  devotion  to  portrait  painting,  in  this 
country,  (where  the  fortunes  of  individuals  are  not 
sufficiently  large  to  justify  the  encouragement  of 
the  very  highest  school  of  art,)  has  been  one  of  the 
causes  why  the  artist  has  not  ranked  higher  in  the 
intellectual  scale  and  attained  loftier  objects  in  his 
pursuit.  Affection  or  vanity  prompts  the  brush. 
The  multiplication  of  loved  or  pretty  faces  satisfies 
the  mind  and  fills  the  walls,  and  when  the  tact  of 
copying  faithfully,  combined  with  a  good  style  of 
pictorial  treatment,  has  been  attained,  the  painter 
becomes  "  the  fashion  "  for  a  season,  and  his  fortune 
is  secured. 

There  is  an  exceedingly  vicious  school  of  modern 
art,  which,  starting  from  art  and  not  from  the  soul 
or  nature,  makes  its  disciples  mannerists  and  the 
merest  imitators.  There  is  another  fashionable  class, 
which  is  corrupted  into  the  vilest  and  most  trans- 
parent mediocrity  by  the  French  lithographs  that 
adorn  the  shop  windows  and  typify  the  theatrical 
exaggeration  of  the  country  that  produces  them.  It 
is  a  school  which  represents  the  violent  passions  in 
dramatic  shapes; — which  exhibits  sentimental  rob- 


37 


bers  peering  over  picturesque  rocks,  while  the  bandit 
bride,  chid  in  fantastic  costume,  crouches  behind  the 
concealing  precipice  and  presses  convulsively  to  her 
bosom  the  infant  scoundrel  in  her  arms.  This  is  the 
demoniac  school  of  Painters, — delighting  in  cut- 
throats, herdsmen  of  the  Campagfia,  castles  on 
crags,  and  all  the  Radclifle  clap  trap  of  exaggerated 
fantasy  which  frightened  our  grandmothers  out  of  a 
sound  night's  rest  in  the  last  century.  Their  pictures 
of  the  crucifixion  make  Christ  more  of  a  felon  than 
a  God.  They  imitate  the  dying  agony  of  a  malefac- 
tor, and  immortalize  the  quivering  fear  of  a  villainous 
culprit  by  transferring  it  to  the  lip  of  Jesus ! 

Now,  much  of  this  false  taste  or  false  principle  in 
art,  has  sprung  from  the  fact  that  it  has  not,  in  re- 
cent periods,  enjoyed  suflicient  patronage  and  respect- 
ability to  elevate  the  social  condition  of  artists,  who, 
instead  of  painting  their  own  conceptions  or  crea- 
tions, have  been  engaged  in  delineating  the  ideas  of 
other  persons ; — illustrating  things  instead  of  creating 
things ; — converting  themselves  into  copyists  instead 
of  poets.  In  the  gallery  which  we  open  to  you  in 
Baltimore,  to-day,  you  Avill  find  at  least  two  pictures 
which  are  magnificent  poems. — I  allude  to  a  Sunset, 
by  Durand,  and  to  the  Progress  of  Civilization,  by 
Cole.  The  first  is  the  embodiment  of  the  idea  of 
silence  and  solitude. — It  is  a  picture  which  mellow^s 
and  droops  the  heart  of  the  gazer  like  the  solemn 
tones  of  an  organ,  stealing,  in  the  dim  twilight,  through 
the  long  and  darkling  aisles  of  a  cathedral.  The 
other  is  the  dawn  of  human  action, — in  which  hea- 
ven and  earth  are  meeting  in  their  first  rude  em- 
brace; — in  which  man  and  nature  stand  face  to  face 
6 


38 


with  ferocious  resolution,  and  hunger  teaches  the 
savage  to  barb  his  arrow,  to  bend  his  bow,  and  to 
drive  his  shaft  to  the  heart  of  his  victim.  He  who 
looks  upon  these  pictures  beholds  at  once  tliei?-  mean- 
ing and  Qiiy  illustration.  He  may  have  beheld  scenes 
like  those  depicted ;  but  he  knows  they  had  no  copy, 
save  in  the  teeming  brain  of  the  poetic  artist. 

Such  were  some  of  the  high  characteristics  of  art 
when  art  was  in  its  palmiest  days,  and  when  artists 
were  the  friends  and  companions  of  princes,  states- 
men, and  scholars.  We  cannot  suppose  that  genius 
is  geographical,  or  that  it  can  be  limited  by  oceans. 
Yet  I  have  sometimes  been  tempted  to  believe  that 
America  was  not  a  congenial  soil  in  which  the  high- 
est Art  could  flourish.  Life  is  here,  perhaps,  too  real 
and  too  little  ideal; — we  are  concerned,  too  much, 
with  the  actual  and  too  little  with  the  imagination  in 
its  best  pursuits.  Greece  and  Italy  have  always  been 
renowned  for  the  expression  of  idea  by  form  and 
sound, — by  painting,  statuary,  or  music.  Their  syn- 
thesis of  idea  was  aesthetically  manifested  by  shape, 
color  and  sound.  Germany,  on  the  contrary,  has 
been  equally  renowned  for  analysis  of  idea — the  spi- 
ritual dissection  of  thought.  May  it  not  be  hoped 
that  the  Anglo-Saxon  race  is  destined  to  unite  the 
two,  and  ultimately  to  produce  the  highest  artistic 
results? 

This,  however,  will  require  leisure,  taste,  high  cul- 
tivation, riches,  and  liberality.  The  mere  dilletanti 
will  never  do  any  thing  for  art.  The  essence  of  true 
patronage  lies  in  the  exalted  understanding  of  the 
patron,  and  in  the  criticism  which  starts  from  the 
true  point  of  idea  instead  of  form.     England  has 


39 


done  little,  with  all  her  wealth;  she  wants  the  fervor, 
the  enthusiasm,  the  imagination  of  the  Italian  and 
German  stocks;  but  here,  where  the  blood  of  all  the 
world  is  blent  and  refreshed  by  continual  immigration, 
I  cherish  the  hope  of  ultimate  progress.  Do  we  not 
perceive  the  feeling  for  art  growing  up  slowly  around 
us?  The  art,  or  the  capacity  for  high  art,  is  here; 
all  it  claims  is  the  discriminating  patronage  of  the 
rich; — and,  where  are  we  to  find  riches  but  among 


the  merchants? 

In  the  desire  of  accomplished  men  and  women  to 
furnish  their  dwellings  with  objects  of  art, — especially 
with  a  few  richly  framed  pictures, — I  think  I  discern 
a  willingness  to  expend  money  upon  articles  of  house- 
hold luxury.  I  think  I  perceive  a  growing  disposition 
to  loosen  the  purse  strings  for  the  gratilication  of  a 
taste  which  is  supposed  to  be  good.  And  yet,  the 
queer,  the  curious  and  the  antique,  seem  to  be  more 
the  objects  of  especial  desire  than  the  grand,  the 
beautiful,  the  chaste  and  the  intellectual.  It  is  more 
the  fashion  to  assemble  forms  than  ideas, — to  gratify 
or  amuse  the  eye  than  the  mind. 

We  have  had  ages  of  gold  and  ages  of  silver,  ages 
of  brass  and  ages  of  iron  ;  but,  in  point  of  taste,  I 
think  we  may  characterize  this  as  the  age  of  the 
odd.  The  poet  who  said  that  "a  thing  of  beauty  is 
a  joy  forever  "  would  not  repeat  his  line  in  most  of 
our  parlors.  A  guest  is  sometimes  bewildered  in  the 
labyrinth  of  things  through  which  he  is  compelled  to 
pass  on  his  way  to  a  seat  in  the  house  he  visits,  and 
may  reasonably  doubt  whether  he  has  wrongly  stum- 
bled into  a  museum,  a  curiosity  shop,  or  a  Jew's 
garret ! 


40 

A  few  years  since  there  was  a  passion  for  auto- 
graphs. There  was  a  rage  to  possess  the  hand-wri- 
ting of  those  who  had  done,  said,  or  written  great 
things.  Every  scrap,  scrawled  by  genius,  w^as  en- 
shrined in  Russia-binding,  or  encased  in  dainty  al- 
bums clasped  with  silver  latchets.  Next  came  the 
revived  taste  for  old  china.  "  Monsters"  were  at  a 
premium  !  Every  "  ancient  family  "  in  which  one 
could  be  discovered,  was  hunted  up,  whilst  every  cup- 
board was  ransacked  for  the  vases  and  punch  bowls, 
the  soup  plates  and  dinner  plates,  the  cracked  saucers 
and  porcelain  prodigies,  that  had  become  too  old- 
fashioned  for  use  or  exhibition  during  the  last  cen- 
tury. A  fractured  cup  was  a  thing  for  female  diplo- 
macy. Wits  were  put  together  to  discover  the  lucky 
possessor,  and  all  the  genius  of  wily  negotiation  was 
exercised  to  out-general  one  another  in  obtaining  the 
precious  porcelain !  It  was  borne  home  in  state,  and 
the  neglected  utensil  which  had  lain  for  half  a  cen- 
tury among  the  dust  and  spiders,  or  served  as  the  re- 
ceptacle for  some  favorite  salve,  shone,  at  once,  in  all 
the  splendor  of  polish,  through  the  plate  glass  and 
rosewood  of  a  magnificent  itagere. 

It  was  rare,  indeed,  that  any  of  this  cracked 
crockery, — this  fragmentary  finery  of  the  last  age, — 
was  beautiful  in  shape,  painting  or  texture.  But  it 
was  old  ; — it  had  the  relish  of  antiquity  ;^and,  what 
was  better  still,  no  one  else  possessed  it,  or  had  any 
thing  precisely  like  it.  If  these  collections  contained 
even  a  series  of  works  of  various  countries,  or  of  any 
period,  or  illustrated  beauty  of  design,— they  might  be 
valuable.  But  the  spirit  they  manifest  is  merely  that 
of  acquiring  the  odd  with  the  most  ridiculous  and 
even  false  dilletantism. 


41 


To  the  ra^e  for  ancient  china  succeeded  tlie  rajre 
for  old  furniture.  NVhat  a  ruiuniagiiig  of  <;arrets  tliat 
passion  produced!  It  was  the  doom  and  death  of 
spiders.  Entailed  estates  that  had  been  established 
for  generations,  by  tiie  "  long  leg'd  spiruicrs,"  among 
the  feet  and  arms  of  many  a  chair  and  table,  were 
destroyed  by  this  ruthless  invasion  of  antique  taste. 
Crooked  legs,  carved  elbows,  perpendicular  backs, 
and  quaint  carving,  were  in  extraordinary  demand. 
A  bow-leg'd  table,  whose  claw  feet  made  ready  to 
roll  the  ball  they  clutched,  was  a  rare  relic  that 
must  be  acquired  at  any  price  that  might  be  de- 
manded. A  looking-glass  frame,  whose  mysterious 
and  inextricable  labyrinth  of  carved  lines  resembled 
the  convolutions  of  a  thousand  tendrils,  was  a  gem  ! 
An  inlaid  cabinet,  with  huge,  brazen  hinges  and 
massive  handles,  was  invaluable!  Second-hand  men 
were  converted  into  cabinet  counsellors  or  spies.  It 
was  dangerous  to  be  suspected  of  a  pedigree.  You 
were  doomed  if  you  had  a  grandfather  ! 

Such  is  the  spirit  of  collecting  the  odd  in  furni- 
ture, which  is  a  graft  of  Chinese  fancy  on  the  taste 
of  the  ages  of  Louis  the  XIV  and  XV.  It  is  the 
school  of  ^'renaissance.'^  Arising,  originally,  from 
the  ancestral  vanity  of  having  old  things,  as  indi- 
cating "  fiimily  antiquity  "  or  pretensions,  it  has  been 
aped  by  the  promiscuous  crowd,  until  our  parlors  are 
filled  with  the  hieroglyphic  relics  of  departed  races 
which  are  quite  as  ugly,  but  not  half  so  useful,  as  the 
hieroglyphics  of  Egypt. 

Am  I  unjust  in  condemning  the  cultivation  of  this 
quaint  and  barbarous  taste?  Am  I  wrong  in  claim- 
ing a  share  of  our  love  for  the  simple,  the  beautiful, 


42 

the  elegant?  Am  I  unfair  in  censuring  the  folly  and 
vanity  that  would  create  a  resurrection  of  birth  out 
of  the  mahogany,  the  walnut,  and  the  china,  that  we 
inherit  or  buy  ?  Am  I  unwise  in  censuring  the  spirit 
that  would  make  these  either  valuable  as  memorials 
of  other  men,  or  the  credentials  of  personal  respecta- 
bility and  descent.  The  nobleman,  of  many  genera- 
tions, in  Europe,  shows  his  ancestral  star, — the  aris- 
tocrat of  few  generations  in  America  points  to  his 
ancestral  tea-pot  or  his  genealogical  chair ! 

These,  indeed,  are  as  yet,  few  ;  but  their  imitators 
are  many ;  and  the  false  taste  and  vicious  principle, 
unless  abruptly  checked,  are  in  danger  of  becoming 
perpetual  and  characteristic.  The  better  views  of 
education,  art,  and  the  uses  of  wealth,  will  produce  a 
higher  standard  of  the  uses  of  existence  and  taste  in 
furniture  ! 

Do  I  err,  then,  in  seeking  to  drive  these  night-mare 
phantoms  of  the  past,  these  ugly  and  distorted  witches, 
from  our  saloons,  to  the  congenial  gloom  of  garrets, 
and  to  substitute  in  their  stead  the  true,  the  beautiful, 
the  grand,  the  ideal  ?  It  requires,  indeed,  a  lofty  ap- 
preciation of  what  art  actually  is,  and  what  are  its 
ultimate  purposes  ; — it  exacts  social  and  intellectual 
refinement  of  high  degree ; — but  recollect,  that  the 
accomplished  man  reads  the  character  of  those  he 
visits  in  their  surroundings.  Taste  is  very  eloquent, — 
it  is  never  dumb, — it  is  an  audible  praise  to  the  po- 
lished observer.  The  jumbled  and  gaudy  brain  re- 
veals itself  in  conceits.  The  wholesome  mind  dis- 
closes itself  in  frank,  beautiful,  and  honest  simplicity. 

Good  taste  may  easily  be  cultivated  by  avoiding 
imitations  or  cultivating  originality  and  self-reliance 


V.i 


in  selection.  As  we  have  lew  or  no  ancestors,  we 
have  no  long  lenia«;e  of-  faniily  [)ortraits,"  unless  we 
go  back, — which  is  not  «jur  wont, — lo  the  modest 
artizan  who  gave  us  birth.  But  books,  statues,  and 
excellent  j)ictures,  are  at  our  coniniand,  and  tiiey 
may  be  purchased  cheaper  than  the  grotesque  combi- 
nations of  wood  and  velvet,  or  the  goldiii  and  gorge- 
ous mirrors  in  which  we  behold  nothing  but  perpetual 
repetitions  of  personal  vanity.  Let  us  cover  our 
floors  with  those  simple  implements  which  are  need- 
ful for  comfort  or  repose,  and  let  us  hide  our  walls 
and  corners  with  statuary  and  painting  of  the  best 
character  of  modern  art.  It  is  not  necessary  to  buy 
the  cracked  and  dim  Rafaels  or  IMurillos,  which 
are  counterfeited  to  pamper  our  taste  for  the  an- 
tique ;  but,  by  patronizing  the  modest  genius  of  our 
own  artists,  we  encourage  their  growing  talent,  we 
create  a  new  race  of  professional  men,  we  elevate 
their  character,  and  we  make  them  personal  or  pic- 
torial friends ; — for,  if  the  painted  thoughts  of  the 
artist  are  proper  as  our  continual  domestic  com- 
panions, the  artist,  who  conceives  and  delineates 
them,  is  equally  fit  for  the  enjoyment  of  our  social 
intercourse.  "  The  artist  depends  upon  the  amateur 
of  his  century, — the  amateur  upon  his  contenqiorary 
artist;"* — and,  thus,  a  mutual  reaction  of  taste  and 
capacity  develops  the  acquirements  and  genius  of 
both. 

And  thus  we  will  be  surrounded,  in  our  liomes,  by 
objects  of  a  purely  intellectual  character  w  liich  con- 
tinually speak  to  the  inner  man — to  the  heart — to  the 
soul.     A  child,  brought  up  in  the  familiar  contempla- 

*  Goethe. 


44 

tion  of  grand  or  lovely  forms,  good  deeds,  nature,  and 
grace,  has  a  surrounding  atmosphere  of  the  most  be- 
nignant character.  The  possession  of  a  beautiful  ob- 
ject is  an  eternal  lesson.  An  eye,  gazing  forever 
from  a  wall,  is  a  reproof  that  is  not  mute.  The  mag- 
nificent head  of  the  Saviour,  by  Guido,  hung  constantly 
in  a  room,  is  a  spiritual  presence,  which  only  escapes 
idolatry  because  its  teaching  is  of  God  ;  and  the  effect 
of  this  high  appreciation  of  the  purposes  of  true  Art, 
will  soon  manifest  itself  in  everything  relative  to  the 
dress,  demeanour,  manners,  and  character  of  an  indi- 
vidual. 

In  speaking  of  that  domain  of  Art  which  com- 
prehends Design,  we  should  not  be  forgetful  of  Archi- 
tecture. Architecture  is  the  physiognomy  of  cities. 
It  is  the  public  exhibition  of  private  and  individual 
taste.  But  this  taste  is  too  often  made  palpable  by 
proxy ;  for  the  man  who  constructs  a  dwelling  and 
the  corporation  that  erects  a  church,  generally  resign 
their  privilege  of  selection  to  an  Architect  who  is  more 
of  a  Builder  than  an  Artist.  Hence  the  grotesque 
crudities  which  fill  our  capitals  with  such  startling 
admixtures  of  style.  Architects  should  be  accom- 
plished men.  The  power  of  construction  and  the 
genius  for  design  are,  by  no  means,  identical.  The 
carpenter  rarely  expands  into  the  poet;  for  a  fine 
edifice  is,  indeed,  a  poem  in  plaster.  Forms,  with- 
out fitness^  easily  seduce  copyists,  in  consequence  of 
the  ease  with  which  they  are  adopted  from  the  works 
of  other  men.  We  do  not  sufficiently  consider  the 
purpose,  the  character,  the  nature,  of  the  edifice  we 
erect.     There  is  too  much  devotion  to  external  effect. 


45 

and,  too  little,  to  internal  comfort,  or  general  suitaMc- 
ness;  and  thus  we  find  oursclvxvs  inappropriaU-ly 
lodged  in  Greek  temples,  or  worshiping  in  the  cryp- 
tic gloom  of  Norman  dens. 

The  facility  of  collecting  architectural  bits,  and 
blending  them  in  unseemly  masses,  corrupts  the  pub- 
lic taste,  for  it  familiarizes  the  public  eye  with 
vicious  principles.  A  French  author  has  declared 
that  "architecture  is  frozen  music."  If  such  is  the 
case,  many  of  our  Architects  petrify  the  slipshod 
strains  of  the  banjo  and  the  jewsharp  rather  than  the 
delicious  melodies  of  the  lyre  or  the  sublime  sympho- 
nies of  the  organ.  Ugly  things  in  Architecture  as 
well  as  furniture,  are  eagerly  seized  in  consecjucnce 
of  their  age.  There  is  an  affectation  of  returning  to 
"iirst  principles"  which  dwindle  into  rudimental  sim- 
plicity. Architects  fall  in  love  with  antiquity  because 
it  is  ancient,  not  because  it  is  beautiful,  and  adopt  the 
early  and  imperfect  periods  of  particular  styles,  rather 
than  the  consummate  order  which  was  attained  either 
in  the  Greek,  the  Roman  or  the  Gothic,  when  na- 
tional taste  had  reached  its  point  of  culmination. 
Thus  it  is  that  we  have  in  our  churches  more  of 
Gothic  quotations  than  of  Gothic  completeness,  and 
that  the  bare  and  barn-like  skeletons  of  a  barbaric 
age  are  revived  in  the  midst  of  the  abundant  civiliza- 
tion of  our  century.  This  should  be  corrected.  Men 
should  build  as  they  dress  or  as  they  bear  themselves. 
They  should  endeavor  to  make  their  towns  beautiful 
rather  than  odd.  Individual  eccentricity  should  not 
destroy  general  effect.  The  Greek,  the  Egyptian,  the 
Goth,  the  Moor,  the  Roman,  and  the  Norman,  should 
not  go  abroad  masquerading  in  a  promiscuous  mob. 


46 

A  man's  intellect  slioiild  look  out  from  his  doors,  his 
windows  and  his  walls.  His  house  should  have  as 
much  external  expression  as  his  face,  whilst  its  in- 
terior should  be  as  perfectly  fitted  for  the  dwelling  of 
his  spirit  as  the  cells  of  his  skull  are  appropriate  and 
comfortable  for  the  working  of  his  brain,  A  great 
city,  filled  with  houses  and  temples  erected  upon  such 
principles,  would,  perhaps,  be  a  miracle  of  modern 
art;  yet  we  should,  strive  to  approach,  if  we  cannot 
reach,  so  desirable,  so  permanent,  and  so  magnificent 
a  manifestation  of  the  highest  national  taste.  Egypt, 
Hindustan,  Greece,  and  Rome,  have  done  so  in  the 
ages  that  are  past,  and  why  should  no  privilege  re- 
main to  the  nineteentli  centurvsave  to  copy,  combine, 
distort  and  jumble  the  architectural  relics  left  us  from 
the  wreck  of  these  glorious  empires  ! 

T  believe  that  the  establishment  of  a  permanent 
gallery  in  our  Athencieuin,  will  essentially  contribute 
to  produce  the  beneficial  results  I  have  attempted 
to  expound,  and  I  crave  its  generous  patronage  by 
the  liberal  persons  who  have  erected  this  edifice. 

I  designed  in  these  remarks  to  exhibit  the  true  uses 
of  wealth  in  social  life.  We  do  not  live  to  make 
money.  We  do  not  live  to  buy  food  and  raiment  and 
dwellings  with  the  money  we  make.  We  do  not  live 
for  sensual  enjoyments.  We  do  not  exist  to  perpetu- 
ate ourselves  or  our  time.  We  are  creatures  of  pro- 
gress, beings  of  more  exalted  purposes  than  those 
which  may  be  cramped  in  the  compass  of  a  life  time. 
There  is  a  higher  existence  of  sympathy  and  love 
which  should  pervade  society  and  fill  it  with  unselfish 


47 


meaninj^.  Tliiit  kind  (»r  life  produces  simpliiitv,  di- 
rectness, purity.  It  is  tlic  essence  of  Christianity.  It 
lines  religion.  Tliis  liiii^lier  life  linds  one  of  its  most 
beautiful  expressions  in  the  h)fly  (ritiinphs  of  Litera- 
ture and  Art;  and,  for  their  e.\j)ansive  dill'usion,  a 
condmercial  community  has  built  this  edifice  ami  e.s- 
tablished  a  perpetual  endjlem  of  its  duty.  Homer 
and  Cleomenes  outlast  a  thousand  Royalties,  Indi- 
vidual wealth  melts  and  disappears  like  a  drop  in  the 
ocean  of  general  riches;  labor  crumbles  with  the 
muscle  that  is  its  instrument ;  but  true  Literature  and 
Art  partake  the  eternity  of  the  .soul  that  creates 
them.  The  great  author,  the  great  sculptor,  the 
great  painter,  the  great  musician,  enjoy  the  meed  of 
a  double  immortality,  for  whilst  their  genius  "rules 
us  from  their  urns,"  their  memory  is  as  fresh  on  earth 
as  their  spirits  are  eternal  in  heaven. 

Were  I  asked  to  design  a  group  to  be  carved  in 
marble  and  placed  over  the  portal  of  our  Athenaeum, 
I  would  link,  hand  in  hand.  Commerce,  Art  and  Lit- 
erature, as  the  Christian  Graces  of  the  nineteenth 
century.  Sustaining  each  other  in  mutual  interdepen- 
dence of  love  and  respect,  they  should  look  aloft. 
Bound  together,  face  to  face  and  not  back  to  back, 
their  pedestal  should  be  the  same  massive  block, 
and,  from  their  divine  eyes,  lifted  forever  from  the 
toils  of  life,  should  beam  the  expression  of  spiritual 
blessedness  and  intellectual  repose. 


ATPENDIX. 


SKETCH  OF  THE  BiVLTIMORE  ATHEN.'EUM. 

The  lot  and  edifice  of  the  Ualtimore  Athenseum  are  held  in  perpetuity,  by 
trustees,  under  a  charter  granted  by  the  Legislature  of  Maryland  at  its  Decem- 
ber session  of  1845,  chapter  122. 

The  project  of  erecting  such  an  establishment  in  our  city  had  often  been 
spoken  of;  but  the  first  practical  effort  to  realize  the  matter  was  made  by  the 
presentation  of  a  plan  to  the  Maryland  Historical  Society  and  to  the  Board  of 
the  Library  Company  of  Baltimore,  by  Mr.  William  Rodewald,  early  in  the 
month  of  February,  1845. 

The  scheme  proposed  by  this  gentleman  was  not  entirely  adopted  ;  but,  as  it 
was  the  active  initiatory  step  in  the  proceeding,  it  deserves  to  be  recorded  as 
part  of  the  history  of  the  building.  The  two  societies  deemed  the  project  of 
great  importance,  and  appointed  a  joint  committee  of  five,  from  each  institu- 
tion, to  consider  it.  The  members  on  the  part  of  the  Library  Company  were, 
Brantz  Mayer,  its  President  at  that  period  ;  Robert  Leslie  ;  William  Kodewald  ; 
F.  VV.  Brune,  Jr.;  and  Dr.  J.  R.  W.  Dunbar ; — and,  on  the  part  of  the  Mary- 
land Historical  Society  : — John  Spear  Smith,  President  of  the  Society;  George 
W.  Brown;  B.  C.  Ward;  William  McKim;  and  Robert  Cary  Long. 

On  the  loth  of  February,  1845,  the  joint  committee  met;  and,  in  a  few  days, 
a  plan  of  operations,  founded  on  public  subscription,  as  a  free  gift,  was 
adopted.  An  address,  setting  forth  the  objects  of  the  building,  signed  by  num- 
bers of  our  leading  citizens,  was  published  in  circulars  as  well  as  in  the  papers 
of  the  day,  and  the  following  gentlemen  were  requested  by  the  joint  committee 
to  conduct  the  scheme  to  successful  completion  : 

WILLIAM  E.  MAYHEW,  Treasdrer.  K.  CARY  LONG,  Architect. 

BUILDING    COMMITTEE. 
R.  GILMOR,  B.  C.  WARD,  S.  \V.  SMITH, 

JOHNS  HOPKIN.S,  J.  McHENRY  BOYD,  G.  \V.  DOBBIN, 

J.  SPEAR  SMITH,  BRANTZ  MAYER,  C.  J.  M.  EATON, 

\VM.  STEVENSON. 

COMMITTEE    ON    TITLE. 
GEORGE  W.  BROWN,  H.  DAVEY  EVANS. 

COMMITTEE    ON    COLLECTIONS. 

GEORGE  BROWN,  WM.  P.  LEMMON,  C.  C.  JAMESON, 

O.  C.  TIFFANY,  W.M.   FREDERICK  FRICK,    W.  WITHINGTON, 

WM.  McKIM,  EDWARD  JENKINS,  JNO.  GLENN, 

J.  MASON  CAMPBELL,  C.  J.  M.  EATON,  F.  W.  BRINE,  Jr. 

F.  B.  GRAF,  J.  B.  MORRIS,  DR.  CHEW, 

CHARLES  TIERNAN,  JAMES  GEORGE,  VVIW.  STEVENSON, 

Dr.  J.  J.  GR.\VES,  EDWD.  HINKLEY. 


50 


On  the  7tli  of  April,  1S45,  Mr.  George  Brown,  who  was  about  to  visit  Eu- 
rope, resigned  his  place  as  chairman  of  the  collecting  committee,  and  was  suc- 
ceeded by  Mr.  O.  C.  Tiffany,  who  immediately  entered  upon  his  task  with  the 
greatest  zeal.  Aided  in  his  personal  solicitations  by  several  gentlemen,  but 
especially  by  Mr.  C.  J.  M.  Eaton,  he  soon  discovered  that  the  plan  would  prove 
successful.  Twenty  of  our  liberal  citizens  subscribed  ;^500  each,  and  the 
munificent  sum  of  $1000  was  added  by  another.  Smaller  amounts  flowed  in 
with  great  rapidity ;  and  finally,  near  ,'fp35,000  were  contributed  for  the  laudable 
enterprize  of  building  and  furnishing  the  edifice,  as  a  gift  from  which  no 

PECUNIARY  RETURN  WHATEVER  WAS  TO   BE  DERIVED. 

Meanwhile,  the  joint  committee  obtained  a  charter  and  digested  the  scheme. 
The  building  committee,  having  ascertained  that  it  might  safely  commence 
its  operations,  made  contracts  for  a  lot  and  for  the  erection  of  the  edifice,  ac- 
cording to  a  plan  and  specifications  prepared  by  Mr.  Robert  Gary  Long,  the 
Architect. 

On  the  12th  of  January,  1846,  at  a  meeting  of  the  original  joint  committee,  it 
was  suggested  that  there  was  a  great  desire,  on  the  part  of  the  commercial 
community  to  accommodate  the  Mercantile  Library  Association,  if  possible,  in 
the  building; — and,  accordingly,  (under  the  provisions  of  the  charter,)  a  por- 
tion of  the  edifice  was  set  aside  for  that  Institution.  After  the  completion  of 
the  house,  the  ground  floor  was  leased  to  it,  on  the  12th  of  February,  1848,  at  a 
nominal  rent,  forever. 

On  the  31st  of  January,  1848,  a  code  of  laws  was  framed  by  the  original  joint 
committee :  1st,  for  the  apportionment  of  the  apartments  among  the  Societies  ; 
2d,  for  the  establishment  of  rules  for  mutual  comfort  in  their  occupancy;  and 
3d,  for  the  creation  of  a  Council  of  Government,  whose  members  are  annually 
elected  by  the  three  institutions  in  order  to  control  the  general  police  of  the 
edifice. 

DESCRIPTION  OF  THE  ATHENJEVM,  Prepared  hy  the  Architect. 
The  building  is  designed  in  the  Italian  palazzo  style,  having  a  frontage  on 
St.  Paul  street  of  50  feet,  by  112  feet  on  Saratoga  street — the  height  from  the 
front  footway  to  the  top  of  the  cornice  being  66  feet.  The  ground  floor,  which 
is  17  feet  high  in  the  clear,  presents  externally,  a  rusticated  ashlar,  covered  with 
a  marble  band  course  extending  around  the  fronts,  and  ranging  with  the  cornice 
of  the  main  entrance  frontispiece.  The  entrance  to  this  floor  is  on  St.  Paul's 
street,  the  frontispiece  being  of  white  marble,  with  arched  doorway.  The  win- 
dows to  this  floor  are  square  headed,  the  frame  shewing  a  recessed  architrave. 
The  main  and  second  floors  present,  externally,  stories  of  20  feet  each,  marked 
by  band  courses,  the  former  having  semi-arched  window  heads.  The  window 
dressings  to  main  floor  are  composed  of  projecting  pilasters,  supporting  pedi- 
ment heads,  with  recessed  architraves  around  the  window  openings.  The 
dressings  terminate  in  projecting  balconies  with  pedestal  ends  and  fancy  scroll 
work  between  the  balconies  resting  on  consoles  and  projecting  from  the  wall 
so  as  to  allow  standing  in  them.  A  court  yard,  screened  from  Saratoga  street 
by  an  iron  railing,  with  gates,  affords  an  entrance  to  this  floor,  by  a  slight  eleva- 
tion of  steps,  owing  to  the  rapid  rise  of  Saratoga  street,  towards  this  end  of  the 
building.  This  court  is  20  feet  wide  by  50  feet  deep,  a  portion  of  it  being  sunk 
to  provide  concealed  water  closets.    The  windows  to  the  second  floor  are  square 


51 


headed,  trimmed  with  arcliifravcs  and  level  cornice,  supported  by  end  trusses. 
Tliese  windows  are  also  provided  with  projecting  balconies,  ol  lighter  design 
than  those  to  the  main  floor  below.  The  cornice  surmounting  the  building  is 
enriched  with  cantilevers  and  dentils,  and  its  whole  depth  is  over  three  leet, 
with  a  projection  of  nearly  lour  feet  to  the  extreme  mouldings.  The  roof  being 
hipped,  the  cornice  extends  around  the  building,  and  to  the  boldness  of  this  fea- 
ture, as  shown  by  the  dimensions  just  given,  the  building  is  mainly  indebted  for 
its  effect.  The  walls  are  of  brick,  the  exterior  facing  being  of  the  steam  pre- 
pared bricks,  laid  with  smooth  joint,  and  painted  in  oil.  The  cornice  and  win- 
dow dressings  are  of  wood,  the  balconies  of  cast  iron. 

The  whole  of  the  exterior  is  painted  in  a  uniform  color  of  warm  drab,  re- 
lieved only  by  the  white  marble  band-courses,  balcony  consoles,  and  entrance 
frontispiece.  The  roof  is  of  tin,  painted  ;  the  gutters  and  down  spouts  being  of 
copper.  The  interior  arrangement  is  nearly  alike  in  all  the  stories,  the  north- 
east and  north-west  angles  being  occupied  by  circular  stairways  ascending  in  a 
regular  spiral  line  to  the  floors. 

The  Ground  Floor  has  an  Entrance  Hall,  adjoining  the  stairway,  of  H  by 
16  feet ;  the  stairway  occupies  a  circular  space  of  14  feet  diameter,  and  a  small 
Meeting  Room  of  14  by  14  feet  is  opposite  the  stairway.  A  Reading  Room  of 
26  by  39  feet  opens  upon  the  Entrance  Hall,  adjoining  which  is  the  Library 
Room  of  47  by  53  feet,  embracing  the  whole  width  of  the  building;  and  beyond 
this  is  the  Director's  room,  of  14  by  32  feet. 

This  range  of  apartments  is  devoted  to  the  Mercantile  Library  Association, 
and  fitted  up  appropriately  for  that  purpose,  in  the  same  style  as  the  Rooms  of 
the  Mercantile  Library  Association  in  Philadelphia,  which  were  taken  as  a 
model  best  suited  for  (he  purposes  and  means  of  the  Association.  The  ar- 
rangement and  effect  are  excellent  and  beautiful,  doing  credit  to  Mr.  Johnson, 
of  Philadelphia,  l)y  whom  these  and  the  fittings  up  of  the  Association  rooms  in 
that  city  were  planned.  The  Library  Room  is  provided  with  a  gallery,  ex- 
tending entirely  around  the  room,  with  cases  above  and  below,  glazetl  in  dia- 
mond lights  and  grained  to  imitate  oak.  The  gallery  is  supported  on  cast  iron 
brackets,  and  has  an  iron  guard  railing.  The  reading  room  is  fitted  up  with 
octagon  tables,  at  the  sides  of  the  room. 

The  Main  Floor  is  appropriated  to  the  Baltimore  Library  Company,  (one 
of  the  oldest  and  most  valuable  literary  institutions  in  Maryland,)  and  to  the 
Public  Reading  Rooms  connected  therewith.  The  Library  Room  has  been 
magnificently  fitted  up,  with  a  gallery  extending  arouiiil  the  room,  with  orna- 
mental glazed  book-cases  below  and  above — a  spiral  wreathed  staircase  leading 
to  the  gallery  at  one  angle  of  the  room.  This  room  is  of  the  same  dimensions 
as  that  of  the  Library  of  the  Mercantile  Association  below,  viz  :  47  by  53  feet, 
with  a  height  of  20  feet.  The  area  of  the  floor  is  divided  by  four  Corinthian 
columns,  supporting  cross  entablatures  which  break  the  ceiling  into  three  long 
j)anelled  compartments.  The  fittings  up  of  this  room  are  all  of  solid  oak,  and 
the  chairs.  Librarians'  table,  reading  table  and  other  furniture  are  all  of  the 
same  material,  and  in  a  similar  style  of  design  to  the  cases.  The  room  is  richly 
carpeted,  and  the  tout  ensemble  of  its  oaken  furniture,  its  sienna  marbled  pillars, 
its  stately  array  of  books,  and  its  noble  dimensions,  is  not  exrc llfd  by  any  pub- 
lie  Library  in  the  country. 


52 


Adjoining  the  Library  are  the  Reading  Rooms — one  26  by  47,  the  other  14 
by  32  feet,  furnished  with  oak  furniture  in  keeping  with  that  in  the  Library, 
A  Director's  room,  14  by  16,  communicates  at  the  west  end  with  the  Library. 

The  Second  Floor,  devoted  to  the  Maryland  Historical  Society,  contains 
the  meeting  room  of  the  Society,  26  by  47,  with  a  ceiling  23  feet  high,  cored  at 
the  angles  and  panelled  in  large  panels — the  President's  room  communicating 
therewith,  14  by  23,  and  the  Gallery  of  Fine  Arts,  which  joins  the  meeting 
room,  and  can  also  be  reached  by  the  stairway  entrance  from  the  court-yard  end. 
This  noble  room  is  47  by  53  feet,  with  a  ceiling  23  feet  high  at  the  apex,  and 
sloping  to  20  feet  at  the  walls.  It  is  lighted  by  a  skylight  in  the  roof,  affording 
400  superficial  feet  of  glazed  surface.  The  walls  are  all  lined  with  boards,  so 
as  to  attach  pictures  at  any  desired  point,  and  the  boarding  is  canvassed  and 
papered  over  to  obtain  a  uniform  surface.  Beyond  the  Gallery  is  a  room  14  by 
23  feet  for  Sculpture  and  Casts  from  the  Antique,  with  high  ceiling,  and  boarded 
in  a  like  manner  with  the  Gallery.  This  Gallery  is  under  the  management  of 
the  Historical  Society,  and  was  added  to  the  scheme  of  the  Athenaeum  at  an 
early  period,  chiefly  by  the  advice  of  the  President,  Gen.  J.  Spear  Smith.  The 
Rooms  of  the  Historical  Society  have  been  fitted  up  in  a  chaste  and  elegant 
manner,  with  solid  oak  glazed  cases,  tables  and  chairs,  the  President's  room 
having  beautiful  and  appropriate  furniture  to  suit.  All  the  fittings  up  and 
carpetings  have  been  designed  to  correspond  with  the  style  of  the  building,  and 
this  uniformity  of  style  throughout  adds  greatly  to  the  effect  of  the  apartments. 

Each  Association  is  provided  with  fire-proof  closets,  built  in  the  wall.  The 
building  is  warmed  by  hot-air  furnaces  in  the  cellar,  and  is  lighted  throughout 
by  gas. 

The  contract  for  the  building  was  entered  into  between  the  Building  Com- 
mittee and  the  contractors  on  the  8th  day  of  August,  1846,  for  the  sum  of 
$25,900.  It  was  afterwards  agreed  to  add  other  needful  work  to  the  building, 
such  as  boarding  the  walls  of  the  Gallery  of  the  Fine  Arts,  putting  up  the 
Gallery  for  the  Baltimore  Library  Room  and  other  items,  amounting  to  $2,282. 
The  building,  completed,  therefore,  has  cost  the  sum  of  $28,182.  The  furni- 
ture is  valued  at  about  $8,000.  The  Athenseum  was  commenced  on  the  16th 
day  of  August,  1846,  and  delivered  for  occupation  on  the  1st  day  of  May,  1848. 
It  is  entirely  free  of  debt. 

The  First  Annual  Exhibition  of  the  Gallery  of  the  Fine  Arts  was  opened, 
and  the  edifice  inaugurated,  by  the  Address  of  Mr.  Brantz  Mayer,  on  the  23d 
of  October,  1848. 


I 


^RNIA  LIBRARY 


-< 


■>OA«vaan#      ^6>Aiivaair^^'^ 


%m 


j^ummo/^^     *^iimmoyr^ 


mmms/A 


^<!iojnvjjo>^     '^(i/ojnvjjo^       ^Tii^wsoi^ 


-< 


^>j,OFCAUF0%        .^.OfCAllF0% 
S     i 


^MEUNIVER^/A 


%avaan-#    ^<?Aavjiani^^      "^uonvsov^' 


x^lOSANCflfj> 


%a3AiNn]WV 


> 


IXJ 


^. 


A\UUNIVERI/A 


v^lOSANCElfj> 
t 


<rii30Nvsoi-^     "^-^mmus^ 


^;^lLIBRARYa^ 


^^UIBRARYQ^ 


^^m\m-^^ 


'^<!/0JI]V3JO'^ 


OS 

< 


,^ME•UNIVERI//, 
#.    _  ^^ 

^  ..  ,  ^ 

o 

?7 


^lOSANCElfj> 
o 


^OFCAIIFO% 


^^.OFCAIIFO% 


<rii3DNYsov'<^     "^aaAiNH^^v^       ^^Aavaaii#     ^<?Aavaani^^ 


|1 


^^lllBRARYOc 


A^lLIBRARYQr 


^^AaV>J8!H^ 


"^^WMIH^ 


aWEUNIVERJ//, 


v^lOSANCElfj> 


•<ril33NVS01^'^        %ii3AINn]WV 


,^WE■llNIVER^//, 


.>;lOSANCElfj> 


-^nvmm^     %a3AiNn3WV 


4o' 


^. 


rv\\EL'MV[R% 


o 

_         .so 


^lOSMCElfj> 
o 


^\\IIIBRARY(9/^       -r>^HIBRARYQ/: 


"^/^a^AiNn-^wv^       %oji]vojo^ 


%OJI1V3-J0-^ 


ij;' 


^\^E•UNIVER5•/A 


-  .\\u.  urn  iLiij//^  ^v^lUJ  ^V^ULltJ 


x,OFCAlIF0% 


^OFCAlIFOff^ 


AA    000  810  727    0 


